A pair of pretty brown eyes
by MaybeItsJustMyType
Summary: One week post HLV, Mary sends John to check on Sherlock, Who is so overwrought that he lets slip about a certain pathologist being on his mind. John runs back to Mary like a puppy bringing back a ball. They decide to play Cupid, but they've got their work cut out for them. With the broadcaster set to make his next move everything is about to be thrown into turmoil.
1. A pair of pretty brown eyes

**This is a multi chapter that I believe will be 12 chapters long, - maybe 13 if an epilogue is necessary.. Sherlolly with a side of mystery/suspense. I have it all planned out but not yet written, I have written three chapters and I post those one each day as soon as I have them formatted and ready to post, if I get time I will post early.. After the third I will post as I write them.**

 **Im sad to report that I own nothing, all hail the great and cruel Moftiss..**

 **Please be kind, this is my fourth story so I'm still quite new..**

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 **~o0oo0oo0o~**

Sitting in his chair, his back straight, poise of a soldier, John was deep in thought. Sunlight, shining weakly through the window, glinted on the tips of his – greying – golden, shorn locks.

Worry for Sherlock consuming him, he had made up his mind to approach him - never a good idea – now, with the broadcast hanging in the air, thick and oily, expressing worry would be something akin to wilfully plunging your hand into a nest of vipers.

Clearing his throat he dove in even as he cursed himself for a fool. "Sherlock?"

Supine on the settee, his robe on, long, pyjama clad legs stretched out, hands steepled under his chin and his tea long since forgotten next to him, Sherlock was in his signature position. Though he gave the appearance of being relaxed, he was a coiled spring, waiting for the slightest provocation. Sleep, if capitulated to at all, was done so with great resentment, the body treated as a traitor, a prisoner of war. The toll this had already taken was clear in his razor sharp cheekbones and the shirt buttons that no longer strained.

Sherlock's eyes followed John, though his head didn't so much as twitch, "Mmm?"

Feeling like a farm animal being sent up for slaughter, he took a breath, eyes ricocheting side to side, unable to decide which angle to take, "..."

" _John_ ," his name a clear warning, "Your _thinking_ is disturbing me." Well aware that John was about to offer advice or compassion, or some combination of both, he sighed, _An annoyance, a mosquito buzzing around his brain, taking his attention from what's important._

"Uh, ahem-hmm.." Placing his hands on the arms of his chair, John sat forward, building up the nerve for what he was about to say.

Sherlock's head swivelled toward him, eyes pinning him with palpable force, "JOHN! Just spit it out, your mind is spinning like a hamster in a wheel, it's _distracting_."

"Well, you, ah...you don't ever have sex? Are you asexual? Cause it's fine - I mean, it's all fine, but I just..?" John held out his hands palm up in a supplicating gesture.

 _What am I doing? What am I hoping to achieve? He's going to open like a pretty flower in the sun and we're going to have a heart to heart and he's going to confess that he just wants to be loved?!_

"If it's all fine then why are you asking?" Sherlock sighed, conveying his disdain at such a ridiculous topic. "It's boring John, why the hell do you care?"

Standing up, he clenched and unclenched his fists, needing to move, his frustration and disgust at John's perceived idiocy fuelling an adrenalin surge."It's _infuriating_ ," he spat through clenched teeth, "We're dealing with Moriarty's resurrection, or at the very least a person wanting us to believe we are dealing with Moriarty."

Sweeping his gaze upwards, he looked as though he were pleading for the strength not to strangle his good friend John Watson, although he'd only be pleading with his own ego if he were to plead.

Noticing John's look of barely concealed terror, he forced a measure of composure he didn't actually feel, and modulated his voice into a more patient tone, "Someone who is capable of hijacking England's air waves in their entirety, someone who also had access to the exact location of the Special Ops plane on which I was a passenger, heading to my exile. A madman who possesses enough flair for drama to delay the broadcast until the plane had already begun taxiing down the runway. We've heard nothing for a week, by my calculations, we will be hearing from him tonight, tomorrow at the latest, which is why I why I need my mind clear to think! And the big question in John Watson's mind is why is Sherlock not out _shagging_?" He flopped back down theatrically.

Thoroughly chastised, feeling ridiculous, he flailed, "Sherlock, you're so wound up, we're all worried.. Mary is such a solace to me, that I.. Well, you know - "

Shifting around uncomfortably, John's eyes pleaded for Sherlock to understand, he didn't want to see him come undone as he had during the Magnussen case, they were all so afraid they'd lose him.

"No John, I _don't_ know, why don't you _educate_ me?" Eyebrows raised, his voice sharp, eyes a cool blue flame.

 _Romantic love,_ ** _always_** _circles back to romantic love and sex and kids and why is Sherlock such a freak?_

Rolling his eyes, "Right then, sorry I asked, never mind, obviously the fact that people love and care about you is a hindrance and a nuisance," his voice flat as he busied himself with picking an imaginary piece of fluff off of his trousers.

Closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath, Sherlock reminded himself that this is _John_ , not some manipulative reporter, not some moron laughing at him behind his back as he turns away after he shows them his 'party trick.'

Gathering his patience, he steepled his fingers under his chin, sat up and spoke softly, "John, it's irritating to be constantly badgered about sex, would you go to a Catholic priest or a Buddhist monk and question them on why they're not having sex, informing them that they require it for stress relief? That abstinence is not relaxing? The work is my religion and my mind my temple, if spend my time fixating on romantic or sexual liaisons my mind will not be free to function at full capacity. I simply cannot afford to be distracted by a pair of pretty brown eyes. Do you see?"

Frowning in concentration, John tapped his foot and thought over his friend's statement, trying to pinpoint what had caught his attention.

Leaning back with a sigh, Sherlock hoped that he'd conveyed enough for him to drop the subject. He remained oblivious to the slip about brown eyes, he was so tired that he had forgotten that no one but himself knew that he was being haunted.

Plagued by Molly Hooper, she was everywhere in his mind palace but always just out of reach. Turning a corner, he'd catch a glimpse of the hem of her jumper as she rounded the one further ahead, every time he entered a door she would be exiting through its opposite, many times he had caught a slip of fabric but it had simply melted like snow in his hands. Mind Palace Molly wouldn't talk to him until he had spoken to the real one, and his heart - he was surprised to realise - was broken.

Seizing on the thread, he tugged, _Brown eyes, Hmm? Oh, Molly! Wow._ "Mmm, I think I do mate, for once I think I see and observe more than you do Sherlock. Good luck not getting distracted by those pretty brown eyes. I'd better go anyway, Mary texted me about some chicken wings, if I'm home late when she's made us dinner she'll unleash sound and fury." Happiness bubbled up in John's chest at the thought of Sherlock happy, with Molly to care for him.

"She is growing an entire human John, she's likely somewhat tired." Sherlock informed him, raising an eyebrow as he sprang to his feet and plucked up his violin and bow.

Nodding in agreement, "Mmm yep, it's tough," _But_ ** _this_** _will certainly cheer her up, ah, how the mighty have fallen. Mary needs to take Molly shopping for an outfit that'll knock the smug right out of him, we'll see who's thinking about sex then.._

Staring at John, his eyes narrowed, he asked, "You find thoughts of your pregnant wife's suffering amusing John?"

"Ah, nothing, no, I mean, _no_ … " _What are you doing? He's a human lie detector! Think, think, think._

"Mary wants sex _a lot_ because of the hormones," he blurted, _Shit, shit, shit_. John gave himself a slow clap in his head, _Oh well done, that's going to be fun to explain to Mary. I need to get out of here, this day cannot get any weirder._

Sighing, he raised his Strad to his chin, "Well thank you _so much_ for sharing that John, I'm sure Mary will be pleased." Turning to play in obvious dismissal, he retreated into his traitorous mind once more.

"Bye Sherlock." Responding with a grunt, he positioned his bow in readiness.

~o0oo0oo0o~

In the half an hour it took John to get home, he managed to restrain himself from calling or texting Mary with his news, this was _big_ , this needed to be done in person. He wanted to see the gob smacked expression on her face when he had _finally_ figured out something that she was unaware of; he would revel in it, but he would remain graceful, magnanimous even.

"Mary?" Fiddling with the key in the dead bolt, finally the lock relinquished its hold on the door and he burst in, his heart hammering.

Calling out ahead as he walked in, "Are you upstairs? I have to tell you about a pair of pretty brown eyes.. MARY?"

"I'm pregnant John, not deaf! I'm coming! Just _slowly_." Mary's disembodied voice came floating down the stairs ahead of her.

"Shall I put the kettle on for a cuppa?" He could certainly do with a drink himself, and in the absence of a beer or a whiskey - in support of Mary, - tea would have to do.

The stairs creaked under the weight of Mary's slow descent, her hips were giving her hell, the joints softening in preparation for the birth, the stairs had become Mary's nemesis.

Slowly and carefully, she made her way into the kitchen, her waddle had become more pronounced every day, she had never had felt less attractive; even in her C.I.A. days, hiding in dumpsters for days when tracking a target she had been fit; a quick shower, a shake of her blonde hair and operation seduce any man she pleased was all too easy. Now operation climb the stairs was the stuff of tactical planning.

"Ooh, lovely, thanks John, peppermint tea will really hit the spot, this heart burn just will not budge," she pounded her chest lightly, "I think a certain little girl is using my stomach as a trampoline." Smiled softly, she caressed her bump lovingly. Mary adored being pregnant, the little baby inside her represented all the innocence in the world she had been trying to help protect when she was an agent.

Leaning in, he gave her a peck before admonishing his daughter, "Come on little lady, wait till you're born, then you can jump on the beds and get in trouble for it like every other kid since the invention of spring filled mattresses." John placed his hand on her stomach and rubbed gently before telling her, "Okay love, sit down, and prepare to have your mind _blown_."

Looking up at him lovingly, she pondered, _How the hell did I get such a lovely man to love me, I'm so lucky, he's gorgeous, brave, he's dynamite in bed, you did well kid, you did well_ , the voice she heard was an echo of her barely remembered grandmother, whom she had lost when she was eight.

John gathered up the tea things almost laughing out loud in his glee, all the way home it had spun in his mind like a top, _Sherlock and Molly, Molly and Sherlock_.

"Okay darling, Peppermint tea for the lady, black for the gentleman," Placing the tray on the table with fanfare, he sat down with his wife ready to razzle, dazzle, and amaze.

Watching her husband, she put together what she knew, _She'd sent him to Sherlock's hoping that he could talk some sense into him about his eating and sleeping and he'd come back in a flap about brown eyes, so either Sherlock had confessed to feelings for Molly or he'd slipped; judging from the way was leaping around like a puppy with a new ball it was the latter and he was preparing to surprise her._

 _A bit of teasing was in order,_ grinning, she asked lightly, "So whose pretty brown eyes exactly have got you in a lather? I remember a time when a pair of pretty green eyes used to get your heart racing love; of course now that they peer out of a pudding face, maybe they don't sparkle quite so well as they once did." Shaking her head, feigning sadness, "You still love me though, don't you," she whispered to her bump.

"What? No! _I'm_ not in a lather, I still love your pretty green eyes, and you don't look like a pudding," he tilted his head giving her a tender smile.

 _Bullseye, ah John, you make it too easy, no wonder Sherlock plays with you like a cat does a mouse before it has its meal._

Smiling softly, she held out her hand to him.

Caressing her hand gratefully, he reassured his wife, "Mary, you're carrying my baby, there's no one in the world more beautiful to me, no one can compare to that," tilting his head for a kiss, he saw the teasing light in her eyes.

Mock frowning, he lay his hands flat on the table, "Oh, you're teasing me, right, you can pour your own tea then."

"Oh, ah, Mary? I uh, - I may have said that you want a lot of sex at the moment due to hormones.. He had me on the spot and I.. _Sorry_." John's expression was pinched and he hung his head looking embarrassed.

"Well, I do want a lot sex John," Mary agreed bitterly, turning the handle of the tea pot towards herself, " I just can't get any, good luck when he finds out I have placenta praevia."

Looking miserable, he agreed, burying his face in his hands, "I _know!_ I just needed to get out of there!"

"Don't worry about it love. I doubt it's a subject he'll pursue.." Smiling wickedly, Mary decided it was time, "So Sherlock let slip about Molly's eyes did he?" Looking thoroughly pleased with herself, Mary waited for John to register what she had said.

John did a double take, " _What_? How did you...?" His brow furrowed in confusion and disbelief, "You weren't even there Mary!" Irritation crept in as he realised that once again he had been beaten to the punch..

"Oh John, how is this a surprise to you? You were there for the slaps, _think_ John, this is Sherlock." She poured out her tea, calmly waiting for John to catch up. He really was adorable when he was thinking, her eyes remained on him as she watched him sorting through what information he had that may be relevant.

"Mmm," John thought about how Molly had been so angry, eyes spitting ice chips, her hand had raised with purpose, it had not been a sucker slap. "He once catch a pen without even turning his head," he offered, heading towards where Mary was steering him but still not quite there.

"Exactly, reflexes of a cat." Mary nodded, taking a sip of her tea, before filling John's cup from his own pot.

Taking the lid off the honey pot, he retorted. "But Mary he was _high_ , even the great Sherlock Holmes is affected by drugs."

"Of course, so we factor that in, maybe she could have gotten in…say, _one_ but he certainly knew the second and third were on their way, for goodness' sake John, she changed hands for the last one!" Mary tilted her head, giving him her version of Sherlock's 'we both know what's going on here look,' and waited for him to catch on.

Anticipating Mary's next point, he went on, spoon in the air, "Okay, so he let her do it, maybe he felt like she deserved to get one in, I dunno, but he definitely said he was grateful for the lack of a ring due to pain," pointing his spoon at her he went on, "he _said_ that Mary."

"John, he was high, he'd been kipping in a flop house where anything could have happened, someone," giving John a hard look, "Had just sprained that Billy's wrist,"

John cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat in an attempt to look inconspicuous before spooning honey into his tea and stirring slowly.

"Do you really think a ring would have made the all the difference? It's not like she turned the stone in. Anyway, you've missed the point, love, Sherlock's right, you see, but you do not observe."

"Well, what have I missed?" Throwing his hands up in frustration, he waited, between Mary and Sherlock he felt stupid a lot more often than a doctor should have to.

Eyes lit with triumph, she played her trump card, "Molly never wore her ring at work John, so how did he know?" She sat back victorious, point proven, case closed, stack the chairs away and go home, Mary Watson, detective of the year.

John's eyes widened comically, "Oh my God, of course she didn't." Slumping back in his seat, his mind reeled, any minute a voice over would begin: ' _You are now entering the Twilight Zone_.'

She always seemed to be two - okay, ten - steps ahead, far from her having her mind blown, she had in fact, blown his.

"He's in love with Molly?" His brain had shorted, he had been downright amazed at the thought that Sherlock found Molly to be distracting, like he had The Woman, but in love? A thought occurred to him, "Mary, how long have you known?"

"Since the night I met him." Mary took a sip of her cooled tea and sighed appreciatively, "Well, it's not a cocktail, but it'll do."

"Since the night you met him?" He asked incredulously, "Mary you hadn't even _met_ Molly then."

"The night I met Sherlock you asked him who knew he was alive, he told you Mycroft, some of his homeless network, and _Molly_." She said with significance.

Shaking his head slowly, "He needed Molly to process the body, he couldn't have faked his death without her on the inside," he explained.

"He needed _Mycroft_ to fake his death, he didn't need Molly, he _wanted_ her there. He wanted her to know he was alive. They didn't need a body to fake a death John, and even if they did, this is Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, you're telling me they couldn't pull it off between them without Molly Hooper? John, can you still not see?"

Still skeptical, "But he's always dismissed her, been cruel to her."

Giving him her sweetest smile, she asked, "What exactly has he done to her to be cruel, John?" Leaning back in her chair in an attempt to get comfortable, she grimaced when nothing seemed to feel right.

"Well, he told her Moriarty was gay when we met him, Molly was furious, she yelled at him and then ran out with tears in her eyes, it was awful, - he thought he was being _kind_." John stopped short, continuing slowly he added, "Sherlock misses nothing but he managed to somehow miss Moriarty being a criminal mastermind, but didn't miss his relationship with Molly. Huh."

Mary winked at John in encouragement, "Mmm, what else John? When else has Sherlock pulled Molly's pigtails?"

"He tore her apart at our Christmas party, really ripped into her about a gift she had brought with her that he had deduced was for a love interest, told her that she was compensating for the size of her mouth and breasts. He _actually used those words_. When he pulled the card out with a flourish like a magician finishing his trick, the dickhead saw his own name and just stopped, stunned, - he must have been, stood there swallowing hard. Then Molly told him off. He _apologised_ , and _kissed her cheek_ , it was so _normal_."

Comprehension dawned slowly, feeling rattled, his eyes darted around the room as if the mystery of Sherlock and Molly could be further deciphered with the help of the light fixtures and mouldings.

"Anything else John?" She prompted.

"Ah, when we were chasing down Moriarty he interrupted her about to go on a lunch date, he told her she would be having lunch with him, pulled bags of crisps out of his pocket like a gift, the wanker. Tried to guilt her, told her he needed to defeat one of her old boyfriends, then he told her to not date anymore." John broke off, looking around him in amazement at his own blindness.

"How have I not noticed this before? Then there was the engagement snark. Oh my god, if any other bloke did all that..." He trailed off looking like his world had just tilted on its axis.

Nodding, Mary added, "Not to mention he practically lives at the morgue. So yes, I've known the whole time he's in love with Molly Hooper, I've just never known whether he'd ever realise it himself."

As she poured herself another cup of tea, she decided, _Time to push things along, and what better time to do it than when his defences are compromised due to the broadcast, from her point of view the timing was perfect._

John sat staring into his cup, lost in his own thoughts, _Am I a traitor if I push Sherlock into something he thinks he doesn't want? But I_ ** _know_** _he'll be happier for it, he eschews happiness, but only because he thinks he isn't capable or deserving of it - And Molly, she's been in love with him since before I met him, she risked everything for him, for all of us, if anyone deserved to get her man it was Molly Hooper, and she'd be perfect for him, a balm for his rough edges, a soft place to land._

"John?"

"Mmm."

"Let's do it." Their eyes met over the table, gleaming with anticipation.

"Yes, let's do it Mary." They held their hands out to each other, grinning madly. Mary began talking low and fast and he nodded along eagerly, ready to do his part.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading!**_


	2. Hi, I'm Stevie, I'm here to help

**Thank you to everyone that has favourited and followed, you're all sweet hearts..**

 **Thank you to the guest reviewer, I really do think that they show it in canon, (just enough to tease us with) like I have John say, if this was any other man..**

Still nothing, I haven't suddenly acquired the rights.. Wish I had though..

 **Chapter two**

 **Hi, I'm Stevie, I'm here to help**

Sherlock stands deep in thought, mournful notes twist and curl around him, disappearing up into the air like tendrils of smoke. His mind is awash with scenarios, endless super highways of possibilities, travelling in all different directions, weaving in and out, through and under each other, regarding the broadcast.

Whoever was responsible for the broadcast had known Moriarty personally. Had loved Moriarty with an _almost_ unparalleled intensity. Only Molly's love for him rivalled the depth of it, he wondered if Moriarty had done as little he himself had to deserve this kind of worshipful tribute.

This dark love was not identical Molly's though, it was a mirror image, where Molly's love was majestic and self sacrificing, this was twisted and dark, melted from the heat of the flame that is madness. But the underpinnings of it matched, there is nothing this monster wouldn't do to avenge Moriarty's death. Conversely Molly placed no limits on what she would do to save him. The dark and the light, two sides of the same coin, an intense love burning so bright care must be taken not to be consumed in its flames.

The alert sound for his email roused Sherlock from his thoughts. He nestled his Strad carefully in it's box and sat down at his lap-top. Opening his email he frowned, 102 new emails? Scanning quickly he noted they all were video attachments, a fist punched through his stomach, here we go. For once there was no thrill, no buzz at a case to unravel, a mystery to solve, there was only fear, stark and cold.

Unbuttoning his cuffs he folded his sleeves precisely with sharp movements, took a deep breath and opened the first email attachment. It was a CCTV feed of a supermarket, two women were selecting trolleys, each giving their chosen trolley a shake to free it from the line, a man picked up a basket swinging it as he strolled in through the sliding doors. Sherlock's eyes flicked back and forth, cataloging, nothing was off, just a regular day. It appeared to be peak hour based on the busyness and the number of people in various uniforms and work suits. _A bomb? A gunman_? He growled at the screen in frustration, 1:14 minutes in, What am I looking for?.

A familiar green coat caught his eye, honing in on it, he recognised Mrs Hudson, she grappled with a trolley for a moment, with a final practiced tug she secured it for herself and made her way in through the auto doors muttering under breath and squinting at her notebook. As she drifted round the corner and out of sight the feed faded to black, a burst of static and the view of Mrs Hudson began scrolling again from a different angle on a different camera. She was making her way down the baked goods aisle, stopping to select a loaf while smiling at the chubby gurgling baby riding past in a stroller, trailing it's fingers along anything within reach in its greed for tactile experience. He scrubbed to the end of the feed, she was paying at the till, gathering up her bags as she entreated the cashier to enjoy the rest of his day.

The threat was clear, _I can see your loved ones, I can hurt your loved ones whenever I please. Mycroft_ would have to be called in. His lip turned up in disdain as he pulled his phone from his pocket, there was no choice, he flicked through his contacts, sighed warily and hit send.

"Ah, a phone call, dear brother, I assume this means we have news from our broadcaster? Or have you injured your thumbs?" Mycroft's tone betrayed his smug awareness of Sherlock's need for his help.

Sherlock's voice was crisp, "Mycroft I need your best I.T. specialist to assemble a team, I've received 102 emails showing the whereabouts of my people going about their daily routines, I need to know where they're being sent from!"

" _Your people_? I wasn't aware you had _people_ Sherlock," Mycroft sniffed, "Have you joined a band brother dear?"

" **Mycroft!** As you are well aware, the list of people I care for includes Father and Mummy, send me your best man, _now_ ," he finished icily.

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, "Must you be so dramatic? Anthea has already taken care of it, she picked up the other line when she saw your name, his name is Stevie and he's selecting his team as we speak."

"How do I know I can trust him Mycroft?"

"You can trust _me_ little brother, he's worked for me since before you met John. He will be there within the hour. Don't do anything foolish in the meantime Sherlock? It's rather tiring cleaning up after your little messes."

Sherlock rejected the call and when back to scanning emails, the next showed Lestrade, he skipped past that one, opening another, justifying his decision: _Lestrade is a detective for Scotland Yard, if he needs my protection, he should change jobs_. The next email showed John, he skipped this one too, not even bothering to find an excuse this time, just thrumming his fingers while he opened another, finally finding what he'd been looking for.

 _Molly_ , he hadn't allowed himself to see Molly since his exile - _death sentence_ – waiting in the prison cell, - they had called it 'a temporary arrangement' to soothe Mummy, but it was none the less a cell – he'd had so much time, he had wallowed in time, time stretched and became thin and ragged at the edges. He fell through worm holes in his mind and saw his relationship with Molly stretched out like a ribbon, unfurled carelessly with little regard to his sanity.

It had hurt, watching himself betray her time and again, guarded and cruel, selfish and careless, never noticing her under his boot heel. Oh, if he was any other man who had treated her this way, the joy he would feel hearing the crack of cartridge, feeling the pain in his hand and the corresponding blood dripping, a further dull thud resulting in a cracked cheekbone, a howl as he sent the wicked creature flying, but it was him, he had hurt her, no one else was to blame.

His punishment - _her salvation_ \- was for him to stay away, Mind-Palace-Molly was angry about it, echoing of course his deductions on how the real Molly felt his about his absence. No matter, he would do this for her, he was all too aware of his love for her now and loving her meant protecting her from her biggest danger; himself.

Molly was walking home from work, mid afternoon, she'd been on the day shift, her face was half hidden, twisted inward, struggling to control her emotions, _She knows she has a detail, why does she walk rather then riding with the agents assigned to her, they can see her Ill concealed tears, they're trained bloody agents! Who does she imagine she's fooling?._

An ache spread from his stomach out through his body, his chest ratcheted tighter and tighter, each breath had to be fought for and won at a cost. His arms gaped, if he could just hold her, it'd make her feel better, she'd always felt better around him, _Except when she didn't,_ a traitorous voice whispered.

Oh, he knew that voice, he'd had time to get used to it, that one and a great many others, a cacophony of voices ripping him apart, he'd had a taste of Moriarty's madness trapped in that room. The voices of the damned, laughing in glee as they deduced his entire his life the way he'd so callously done to others without so much as a thought for their agony.

He lost himself in the sway of her hips, the slight hitch to one side as she walked, her tiny frame almost bouncing, her silken hair streaming out behind her, sunlight lighting fires in her tresses, her woollen jumper gaudy and bright. Plain Molly Hooper, always putting others at ease, unless she wanted something, like a medical degree, or a position as a pathologist, - or him, - then she was tooth and nail, perseverance and glints of steel, it took him years to see any of that, he saw a bumbling girl with a crush, cheery and malleable. He was the bumbling boy now, and she'd grown up.

She remained hunched over with her face tilted down, it was angle that spared his gaze from her eyes, a mercy for which he was truly grateful, while at the same time his fingers were dancing on the desk top, desperation crawled through his veins. Oh, to put two fingers under her chin and tilt her face up just so, reach around with his other hand and pull her hair band loose, her hair a silken waterfall, her eyes shining for him, _always for him_ , he conducted electricity for her in the same way John did for him with his brainwork, but how? How could someone so devoid of love conduct so much of it in such a rare and special creature?

He dreamed about kissing her, lips, shoulders, neck, trailing down the inside of her arms, past the crook of her elbow and over her wrists, feeling the goosebumps surge and feeling her sigh of contentment, kissing every square inch of her, worshipping her, he longed to hear his name spill from her lips breathlessly, while she shivered and writhed in ecstasy.

He sat watching her, mesmerised, floating in a bubble of sweetness, he could all but feel her skin sliding against his palms, soft and warm, her breath shallow.

The door bell was an intrusion, a shot ringing out, he cocked his head, tuning into the sound of Mrs Hudson opening the door and directing Stevie the I.T. Guy to go on up. His tread on the stairs was light, _fit_ , two steps at once, _tall_ , the knock was firm was but not overly loud, _confident, handsome._ Sherlock turned toward the door, "Well come on then!" He sniped impatiently.

Sherlock assessed him as he crossed the threshold, his deductions were all correct, Stevie was around his own height, late thirties, blonde wavy hair, green eyes, fit, well dressed in a casual 'these jeans cost as much as your rent' look, almost a casual, lighter coloured version of himself, a kind of distorted mirror. He extended his hand to Sherlock, "Hi Mr. Holmes, I'm Stevie, I'm here to help" _Just not you._

Sherlock shook his hand and nodded, "Yes," he answered in a business like tone, he gestured to the computer, "There's one hundred and two emails so far, various CCTV feeds that have been capturing my...friend's movements." Voice clipped, detached, he stood back clasping his hands behind his back.

Stevie sat down in front of the lap-top at the screen and saw video feed of Molly pushing through the doors at the canteen in the hospital. His mouth twisted in sympathy, "Oh, poor Molly, she'd _hate_ that, being caught on camera, she was so angry when Mycroft assigned agents to follow her, she equated it to being a kept zoo animal." He looked at Sherlock noting the way his eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth began twitching, he let his travel slowly down and was rewarded with fists clenching and unclenching. _He loves her? He's always needed her but this is new, I can use this._

"You know Molly well?" His eyes were sharp, predatory.

 _He's going to start circling me soon, growl at me, maybe cock a leg. Oh this is good, this is a gift. When she broke it off with Tom I thought I'd lost my chance to hurt him through her, but this, this is perfection. He's not going to watch while his friends all move on, no, he's going to fall in love and be so happy, and then I'm going to kill her, all of them. And he will be me, and madness will lap at his heels until darkness claims him._

Stevie smiled at him, "Well, every girl over the age of thirty needs a gay friend, or a cat, right? Well now she's got both." He laughs self deprecatingly, eyes bright, not missing the almost imperceptible sigh of relief from his nemesis. "It's not my place to say, but she talks about you, she misses you, she think's you're angry with her after the, uh," he pauses, tilting his head to show discomfort, "in the lab?" He lets his lips flatten and his eyes slide in a gesture that displays he is the messenger, no threat at all.

Sherlock ostensibly ignores this and turns the lap-top toward him, "Where are your team?"

"No need for them to traipse through here causing inconvenience to you, your brother has made me aware of the value you place on privacy, so my team are set up in a hotel room, I can send them all the emails from here, they will have the same access, I myself will only need to be for an hour or so, I will set up an email address in your account to forward the emails to us and I'll check if your computer has a key strike program," – _while I install my own_ – and make sure there are no Trojan horses coming in with the emails, and check there is no video surveillance being triggered, I'll also install government issue Malware software.." He bent over typing away furiously, mumbling to himself.

"Tea?" Sherlock asked stiffly, hoping to milk him for information on Molly while he was here.

"Tea? Ah, yeah, ok, chamomile?" Stevie's face was hopeful, a boyish grin he hoped was wide and disarming.

Sherlock's face scrunched in disgust for a micro second before he schooled his features into a friendly smile, "Mrs Hudson may do.. **Mrs Hudson, TEA!"**

Stevie's eyes swivelled to Sherlock, _no wonder Jamie had thought him his twin._ He gave him a wide eyed look to convey his fright at such a sudden loud sound, he was careful to not lay it too thick however, he was aware that his brief stint in the army was as visible to the consulting detective as the nose on his face, as was – most likely – the drug use that had led to his dishonourable discharge.

Mrs. Hudson's foot steps were light and bird like on the stairs, "Tea? Sherlock, what about for you too young man? Cake too? Or biscuits?" Sherlock's mouth quirked up at the corner, Mrs. Hudson had always been sucker for a pretty boy.

Stevie turned to her, offering a smile that would do a fair job of out dazzling the sun, "Chamomile?" He pouted a little, "Or am I asking for too much? Probably keeping one of your boyfriends waiting while we speak?" He dropped her a wink and she giggled and flapped her arms in mock protest.

Sherlock stood watching, disgusted, _Is he fawning over my pathologist like this? This is unacceptable. Is he sleeping with her? Plenty of gay men sleep with women on occasion, it's not unheard of, and Molly is rather special, I want her and I'm hardly known for it. He could be bi? Hmm._

Mrs. Hudson was heading down the stairs in high spirits, skipping like a school girl under the weight of Stevie's eyes, Stevie turned back to Sherlock. Sherlock channeled his 'Janine personality,' relaxed gait, soft eyes, fluid movements, "So, how did you meet Molly?"

"When you were, erm, away, she came to see Mycroft, she started to have lunch once weekly with Anthea, it was good for both of them, women don't take to Anthea, and Molly struggles because her job puts people off." Stevie's eyes flicked from the lap-top to Sherlock to initiate eye contact as he chatted.

"Where do you fit into that?" Sherlock's smile was so brittle he felt it might crack, his mind offered him a smorgasbord of images of Stevie, - _What kind of a name is Stevie anyway? Sounds like a child's nickname,_ \- defiling Molly, tearing his name from her lips, he shuddered, a light cough masked the shudder and he gestured for him to go on.

"Oh, well, I had to see Anthea about clearing a new recruit, Molly invited me to lunch. She's so lovely, and cute as a button, although her clothes are _atrocious_! We had a lot in common," _Such as unrequited love for a consulting genius_ , "So we arranged to have lunch again, she's really very special, I hate to see her alone, I've been _encouraging her to date_." Stevie turned back to his work humming, leaving the detective to let that idea roll around in his head.

Thereafter silence followed between the two men, with the exception of Mrs. Hudson buzzing around with the tea things. Sherlock was reviewing his options in his head and questioning his decision to stay away from Molly, if staying away put her in more danger than he would need to reassess his plan. Between the footage and having Blondie here encouraging her to date. He desperately needed to access his mind palace but could not until he was alone, he settled for yelling at Mycroft via text demanding answers as to why this Stevie character had been allowed to hang around Molly.

Stevie finished installing his programs and forwarding the emails, - diligently getting the work done, he had no need to forward them at all, seeing as he was responsible for them, but he remained vigilant, this was no ordinary man, this was the monster who had broken his Jamie.- He would need to reunite the detective with Molly, and in order to do so he would need to create a catalyst, ideas flowed through his mind, violent, painful fantasies. He settled on a straight forward easily achieved plan that could be arranged for when sweet Molly finished her shift this evening.

 **I know you're wanting to see Sherlock and Molly together, that will happen in the next chapter. I am about to format it now (around my two year old's demands and I will post it as soon as it's ready, which will be today, hopeful very soon.**


	3. You broke my heart, Sherlock

**Woo hoo, got it done, *wipes forehead agressively* phew, so this one is the last one of this fic I have ready.. (If you're reading Scrummy there is a sweet follow up fic set 18 months after it ends, that I will post today or tomorrow too..)**

 ** _So after this chapter I need to back to the drawing board and write more.. I have it planned out but it's a matter if stringing the words together in the right way.. Also I do not have a beta so I'm solo and re edits take a while.. I'll try my best to make it weekly updates though.._**

* * *

 **Chapter three**

 **You broke my heart Sherlock**

Molly made her way out of Barts, twining her scarf around her neck and up over her nose against the blistering cold, she hunched her shoulders and walked against the wind, she could feel Frick and Frack's eyes upon her courtesy of Mycroft and Sherlock.

Sherlock, god she missed him, he had refused to see her after he got sent away, so the last time she had seen him he was unconscious in a hospital bed, and the last time he had seen her she had slapped him repeatedly, _hard_.

She could only suppose that he couldn't forgive her for lashing out against his bad behaviour. For her part, she stood by it, he had needed a wake up call and no one else seemed to be capable for the task, but it hurt so badly to be cut off. Her life had become a pale imitation, a photocopy of a photocopy, a dull reflection of her life with him in it..

She knew all about the exile, - _death sentence –_ she could read Anthea well enough to have picked up that, the pity in her eyes had been excruciating. He had decreed that she was not to come and he wouldn't take her calls and her letters were returned unopened. Mycroft had sent an impersonal protection squadafter the broadcast, she assumed at his behest, she supposed he thought he owed her at least that much, but he'd washed his hands of her.

Tears began welling up again, _Come on Molly_ , came her fathers voice, _You don't know what's going on his head love._

 _I know I haven't seen him, I know everyone else got a goodbye, they were all taken out there one by one, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, John and Mary, they went several times, but he didn't want me. I called him out and that was that, I guess he preferred Mousy Molly, although I wouldn't have thought so after Irene Adler and Janine Hawkins, but then, they were women in his eyes. I was an asset, a handy tool whose notions of her own importance inflated to a level beyond acceptable._

Molly spent the subway ride home and the short walk after lost in her thoughts, secure in the knowledge that the hired goons would be her eyes and ears, _Is this how men feel? Not having to vary your route, no panicking about accidental eye contact, heavy footsteps echoing on the pavement behind a simple acoustic sound, not a reason for fear._

Molly sighed as she made it to her door, she stood back to allow the goons entrance while she waited outside and they did their mandatory checks. She didn't really think badly of them, she was actually grateful for their risk in protecting her, but her frustration and loneliness had to go somewhere, and - mentally at least – they were on the receiving end.

Outwardly Molly was polite and pleasant, - if a little impatient - once they were done she had big plans, slipping into her pyjamas and having a glass of wine while she had a good cry followed by a soak in the tub while she read some Jane Austen, - comfort reading at it's best.

She broke from her reverie wondering why she hadn't been ushered in, listening she realised that frantic calls were being made. Hearing Mycroft and Sherlock's names she decided it was time she found out what exactly the drama was, sucking in a breath and steeling herself, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

She took a moment to let her eyes adjust, then her mouth dropped, slack with fright, her darling little flat had been trashed, utterly ripped up. The apple covered curtains were shredded, her sunny yellow couch had been ripped through and the stuffing pulled up, it was all broken and mangled.

Trembling and confused she walked with unsteady, jerky movements through to her bedroom calling softly to Toby. She paused in her bedroom door, no sign of Toby, only wall to wall blood. She sunk to the floor, calling hoarsely, " _Toby, Toby,"_ feeling a hand on her shoulder she screamed.

Heart pounding, Molly realised it was one of the agents, the shorter, rounder one, he looked like a family man, a man accustomed to gentleness, he was cradling Toby in his arms. "Miss? I've got him, it's okay miss, they're coming now, they'e on their way," he soothed, gingerly he held Toby out, careful to keep his movements slow and gentle so as not to spook.

Molly sat with Toby held tight, he seemed to crave the comfort as much as she needed to give it. She whispered sweet nothings to him, stroking his smooth fur in a soothing manner, his purr a balm for her soul. Shock rendered time obsolete, two minutes, - Hours? Days? - later a change filtered into her consciousness slowly, noise was coming from the door, a voice raised in anger, another in supplication.

Molly shrank down in on herself, digging her heels into the floor she scrabbled back, scooting along until her back hit the solid wall, her goal the corner, tucking Toby under her coat she waited, straining to hear. Eyes wide and alert, flicking over every object within reach, assessing and subsequently discarding each as a viable weapon, finally her gaze landed on a decorative letter opener that had been her grandmother's.

She stretched her leg out carefully and scuffed at it with her foot, finally gaining some purchase she drew her foot back slowly, cursing when it caught on the carpet, she froze realising that there was silence outside her bedroom, her leg remained stretched out, foot hovering, lowering her foot slowly and silently she waited.

A dark shadow appeared in the door way, she whimpered aloud as the shape took form, revealing itself to be a man, a very tall man, " _Molly_ ," her name little more than a breath, an anguished breath.

 _My mind is clearly playing tricks on me, that sounds like Sherlock, well, how he would sound if he was terrified._ The figure was advancing toward her, she winced and turned her head, a sob involuntarily falling from her throat, a pitiful sound.

Sherlock crouched in front of her, Belstaff pooling around him, "Molly, it's _me_ , you're safe now, no one going to hurt you." His gaze took her in, drank her in, checking for wounds or any signs of physical harm, but also just revealing in her nearness. Her stripey scarf clashing with her jumper and her baggy plain khaki pants just so Molly that he couldn't help a sigh and a smile at the sight.

Molly's brow was furrowed in confusion, "Sherlock? Did I fall asleep?" Her time becoming desperate, "You can't be here, you don't want me any more, you think I let you down, you think I wasn't on your side!" Tears are falling freely now, great racking sobs shuddering through her chest.

Sherlock's head dropped in shame, " _Oh Molly_ , no, no, I never thought that, not for one minute, I was trying to protect you from me." Sherlock's eyes were dewy, guilt onward at him, he always made her feel bad.

Molly scrambled up from the floor still holding Toby tight against her chest, "No! You don't get to leave me behind to protect me, _you broke my heart Sherlock._ " Launching herself at him she grasped his coat with the hand not holding Toby and he stumbled backwards. His legs hit the bed so he sat down and pulled Molly up onto his lap.

Mycroft appeared in the door, eyebrows raised at the two of them, Sherlock shook his head, a clear warning for him to leave it alone.

"We'll need a safe house for her Mycroft, double her protection and an agent in the safe house twenty four hours a day, a _female_ agent, no longer than six hour shifts, _fatigue and budget cuts_ will not be the reason anything happens to Molly." Mycroft nodded, his face a rare show of pity and care for Molly, the woman his brother clearly loved, the woman his whole family owed Sherlock's life to.

Sherlock rocked Molly back and forth, rubbing her back, leaning his head on the top of hers he inhaled, a sweet innocent fruity fragrance, lemony and sunny. She felt like home, her little body fit against his like a puzzle piece, he allowed himself to comfort her while her heart rate slowed and sobs grew further apart.

Molly felt her eyes began to droop, between her exhaustion and his solid warmth she was so comfortable, he smelled like her childhood, the feeling of his hand rubbing circles on her back made her feel cherished. She nuzzled against his chest sighing contentedly. Finally home, she drifted into a dreamless deep sleep.

Sherlock felt Molly growing still, "Molly?" He whispered softly, she'd gone to sleep. Pride bloomed in his belly, when Mycroft appeared in the doorway again he noted the fierce look on Sherlock's face, so determined to protect her, so clueless as to how.

Mycroft's voice was gentle, "It's done, brother mine, Stevie will take over the arrangements soon but for now Anthea has set Miss Hooper up."

"Stevie?" His face incredulous, and sour, "What the hell has he got to do with anything?"

Mycroft smiled, "Ah, well, he's going to be taking over Anthea's position for her maternity leave."

Mycroft's manner told Sherlock everything he needed to know about the identity of the father, he seemed almost _jaunty_. "Mummy will be pleased, when are we to expect wedding bells?"

"Stevie is setting up a dinner for Valentine's Day for my proposal, I took to heart what you told me little brother, being different is not always a bad thing, she loves me, though I don't understand why, much in the same way Miss Hooper loves you. Perhaps it may be best to take another look at your own advice, hmm? No need for safe houses if you would just take her home to Baker Street with you where she belongs."

Sherlock's face hardened, "I know what I'm doing Mycroft, I don't need you to parrot my own words back to me, it's a very different situation I find myself in."

Mycroft's mouth was turned down, his eyes dewy, "Oh little brother, pushing her away will not keep her safe, she's safe now, with you, look at her right now, curled up in your lap like a child and tell me that you can't see that."

* * *

Molly comes to slowly in confusion, the first thing to hit her is the smell, disinfectant, and window cleaner, she opens her eyes and looks around, white, a sea of white, walls, ceilings, no pictures, no signs of life. She looks down, brown blankets, single bed, green carpet, _Where the hell am I?_ Scanning her memories it came tumbling back, the blood, _Sherlock_. "Sherlock? Are you here?"

She sat up listening for his footsteps. Light, quick footsteps bounded in, "Molly, are you okay? Anthea told me what happened."

"Stevie, hi, is Sherlock here?"

His face fell, grimacing, he answered, "He had to go take care of some things, there's a been a few developments with the broadcast? He didn't want to leave you, I was here when he brought you, I was here when he came in carrying you, he looked so tender, I thought you said your love was unrequited?" He smiled at her, trying to make her feel better about being abandoned in her sleep.

"You're mistaken Stevie, he doesn't love me, he just feels responsible." Molly looked down at her hands clasped in her lap,she felt like a fool, she'd told him that he'd broken her heart leaving her like that, then she'd fallen asleep in his lap – she had no idea why he'd let her, - and then he'd dumped her here as soon as he had a chance and bolted again.

"Hmm, you were asleep Molly, you didn't see his face, remember when we talked about how it feels to love someone who just refuses to see you that way, especially when they do see others in that light? If my _friend_ ," his voice broke a little, sitting next to Molly he pulled her in for a one armed hug, "If he'd ever, even once looked at me like that before he died I would have never left him alone until he admitted he loved me. That man loves you Molly, you just have to force him to grow up and admit it."

Molly leaned into her friend, "Oh Stevie, I wish that were true, but he's always seen me as a little girl." She sighed and let her head fall against his shoulder.

"Well that I can help with, what's the point in having a gay BFF if you're not going to use him hmm? Let's bring that consulting detective to his knees, hair, make up, wardrobe, we'll have him eating out of your hand in no time. Ooh, I know let's aim for a Valentine's date!"

"Stevie, I don't know, it's not as easy as all that, he's not like other men." Molly slumped back a little wiggling out of her friend's grasp, face slack.

"Sweetheart, I'm a man, he's a man, I know what will get a man's attention, especially a man in love, we just need to force his hand a little. I got Mycroft and Anthea together after all, I'm setting up the proposal for Valentine's Day…" He trailed off sucking his cheeks in and holding out his hands splayed to inspect his finger nails nonchalantly.

"What?! Mycroft and Anthea, you did it? You actually did it?" Molly's face was lit with pure delight, sunlight radiated from her features. "Oh _Stevie_! Well done!"

Stevie lowered his voice and leaned in, "Can you keep a secret Molly?" He waggled his eyebrows waiting for her response.

Molly's head whipped to face him, "Yes! Course I can! Spill!" She drummed her fists on his knees in anticipation.

"Anthea's pregnant." He delivered the news with a flourish, his coup de gras.

Molly put her hands over her mouth and let out a squeal. "You told her you would have them together by Valentine's Day last year! I can't believe you did It!"

"Oh yea of little faith, if I can get the Iceman to propose you better believe I'll have the detective in the funny hat eating out of the palm of your hand sweetie."

Molly was looking a little better after the good news, Stevie offered to get her some soup and toast which she accepted, he'd stocked the cupboards when he came here himself, he knew all her favourite comfort foods, he told her he'd be back tomorrow with some DVDS but for now she'd just have to make do with a copy of Pride and Prejudice he'd picked up..

Molly hugged him with tears in her eyes, "I don't know where I'd be without you Stevie, thank you." Stevie waved her off, "No, I mean it, you're a great friend Stevie." Theyhugged and Stevie pulled the door closed calling out goodnight as he did so.

* * *

Stevie closed the door on Molly's room and checked the agent was in place, _No point in dropping the facade at any time, you never know who might be watching, besides it wouldn't do for anything to happen to sweet little Molly now, not before the detective had tasted his happiness. Oh yes you consulting prick, you're going to be so happy with Molly, she's lovely, she'll make you so happy and when she dies with the rest of them you'll be that much more broken._

Once in a while he would begin to almost feel sorry for sweet little Molly, she was innocent in all of this, and she was lovely, but then he'd remember that Jamie – who couldn't love him, would never love him – had fallen in love with her, and his heart would snap shut like a steel trap again.

He took his phone out and texted Mary _I think it's about time we got these two idiots where they they belong? Don't you? I have a plan for Valentine's Day, you and the hubby want to play Cupid with me?_

Mary's reply was instantaneous, _Stevie, I'm already with you, you're in charge of wardrobe, John and I will convince him to take her out as a friend, after all whoever is responsible for the broadcast is out there somewhere and with Molly's taste in men, God knows she'd be just the type to accept a date. ;)_

 _Ah, you devilish woman, if I was a straight man John would have a fight on his hands for your honour Mary ;) Operation Valentine's Day is go, he's not going to know what's hit him._

 **What do you guys think? Have the Holmes boys met their match? This guy has the patience of a saint, he is also a genius and he's completely 1000% insane...**


	4. We're friends, aren't we?

**Thank you to everyone who has followed and favourited my story or me! Thank you to anyone who camE and followed me on Tumblr! You're all too lovely. Special thanks go to my reviewers, rubyred753, Kathmark, goddess1903, dalekandtheTARDISat221B, and the guests too..**

 **Kathmak said: I am a bit surprised that no one besides Sherlock is suspicious of this Stevie character. Shame on Mycroft for not checking him out properly. -That's an excerpt of her review, the part I thought needed to be addressed, for anyone who was wondering but maybe felt shy to ask..**

 **Don't be too angry with angry with Mycroft, Stevie has been in place since before any of this started. Jim went to Barts, Stevie went to Mycroft, also, Sebastian/Stevie is also a genius, he and Moriarty put together the Richard Brook persona that took years to undo and that was with the prior knowledge that he wasn't real. I hope that helps to explain it..**

* * *

 **Chapter four**

 **We're friends aren't we?**

"Stevie, I'm not sure, I've always had my hair long." Molly grasped a strand and twirled the ends around her fingers lovingly, enjoying the silky slide against her skin.

"Molly, you have beautiful hair, but you _need_ a change, your hair is lovely, but it's not age appropriate and doesn't say professional woman. You need to project confidence, you've got to stop allowing yourself to be so forgettable. I am telling you, he's in love but he's a big baby and he won't jump, you have to give him a shove." Stevie stood hands on his hips scanning Molly and tut-tutting to himself about her many fashion faux pas.

"What if you're wrong? I'm going to make a fool of myself, I haven't even seen him in a week, well.. I –" Molly trailed off shifting from foot to foot awkwardly.

Stevie's eyes narrowed, cocking his head, he sucked his cheeks and clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "Spill, Molly," he ordered.

"Well, he just…he sent a text." Molly, discovering a sudden interest in her fingernails, inspected them refusing to meet his eyes.

" _What_ did he text you?" Stevie's eyes roamed Molly's face, the fact that she was hiding something was plain.

"Nothing really Stevie, just to be safe and not to accept any dates until we know what's going on..who's responsible." Spotting the smile spreading wider on Stevie's face, she rushed to add, "See, _this_ is why I didn't want to tell you, I knew you'd make a big thing of it and it's not. He doesn't mean anything by it, he told me the same thing years ago after...well after Jim."

Molly's cheeks were flushed, the whole Moriarty sham would always remain a source of humiliation, she continued examining her nails, causing her to miss the storm that raged across Stevie's face.

Stevie clenched his fists and bit out "Molly, I hate to think of you being hurt, you do have to be more careful."

Despite being completely and utterly insane, Stevie - _unlike_ Sherlock – did not attempt to deny emotion. Aware of the absolute impossibility of completely disguising his reactions, he didn't try to. Instead he opted to show just how extremely visceral his reaction to the Jim/Molly situation was, and in doing so, ironically helped to keep himself above suspicion.

"Oh Stevie, don't even worry about me," Molly snorted, "I don't think that Moriarty even considered me worth remembering, let alone worth staging a plan to deal with me, I'm nobody, just a silly girl with a crush that he exploited to get closer to Sherlock," she sighed, "I've never had to _try_ to be forgettable Stevie."

"Molly, you have no idea how far from true that is, you're in his heart, and we're just going to make him acknowledge that, he doesn't need to fall in love, he _is_ in love, he just needs to stop denying that he is, and that's where I come in." Stevie winked at Molly.

"Stevie, you can dress me up all you want, I'm never going to be appealing to him in that way, I've seen his head turned only once and she was nothing like me. She was sophisticated, beautiful and clever and he was fascinated by her, I never stood a chance."

Molly's shoulders slumped, defeated, "Stevie, I don't want to do this, _he'll never look at me the way he looked at her._ Did I ever tell you that he asked me to help him x-Ray her phone just days after deducing that I had feelings for him, he asked me for help with his obsession with her. Do you realise how little he must care about me to have done that?" Tears were rolling down Molly's cheeks when she finished talking.

She stalked to the sofa woodenly on unsteady legs, "I _can't_ Stevie, I won't put myself out there, I've done it too many times, he doesn't want me." Unshed tears glistened in her lashes catching the light and refracting it.

Stevie sat down next to Molly and took her hands, "Molly, you don't know the truth of that situation. You're talking about Irene Adler, she was blackmailing the Royal family, Sherlock needed to get into her phone to gain access to the compromising footage."

Molly looked at Stevie frowning, "I know who she was Stevie, I was there when Sherlock identified her and I do have access to google. How do you know anything about her?"

"Mycroft had planned to relieve Sherlock of the phone and have me try to access the memory, so he had me install surveillance in your lab, he predicted – correctly - that he would go to you. Mycroft calls Barts – and by extension, _you_ – Sherlock's home away from home. I honestly don't know whether or not he developed feelings for her later when she turned out to be a little less than dead but I very much doubt it, she used him to help Moriarty."

"She wasn't dead? But he identified her! He identified her by her naked body, so don't tell me nothing happened Stevie, I may be a blind fool but I'm not stupid! He probably spent time with her while _he_ was dead."

Molly felt a wave of nausea rush up from her already painfully clenched stomach, she grabbed blindly at the tissue box on the coffee table and swiped at her eyes angrily, embarrassed to be melting down over Sherlock again. "I need to put this behind me Stevie, he isn't interested, he never will be, he barely counts me as a friend, I'm useful upon occasion, that's it. It's only his guilt that gives him the appearance of caring, he doesn't want to have me on his conscience should something happen to me, and I'm such a ninny he thinks I can't look after myself." Molly sat twisting the tissue around in her hands.

"Molly she's dead, she was killed in Karachi. John told Sherlock she was placed in witness protection in America, Mycroft thought it best. Sherlock had no plans to ever see her again." _Which is handy, because she is in America...in the desert in Vegas.._

"Stevie, I don't want to make a plan to 'get' him," Molly's voice was low and stretched thin, all of this was taking its toll.

"Okay, no plan," Stevie let go of Molly's hands and threw his own up in mock surrender, "Just a little update of your look to feel good then."

"Stevie," Molly admonished, sounding wary.

"Molly, I'm serious, all your clothes were ruined, so you have to buy new things, if you want to move on from him okay, we won't do it for him, we'll do it for you, you deserve to feel good, right?" Stevie smiled encouragingly waiting for the yes he knew would come in time.

Molly was resigned, "Alright, we'll go shopping, but no plans, no _tricks_ , Stevie, I'm too tired to play games."

Stevie grinned, "Scouts honour." This is going to be even better, if I sex her up and she appears uninterested it will make him fall that much harder, human nature.

* * *

"Sherlock, at least think it over, it wouldn't be a real date, you'd just be going as friends, Mary and I both agree that it's important that we not only keep Molly safe, but that we keep her spirits up. Valentine's Day is a big deal to Molly, only she's single, because _you've_ forbidden her from dating," he shot a frown in Sherlock's direction to let him know what he thought of _that_. "She needs something to look forward to Sherlock, she's not her usual self, she's not even upset, she's just static."

John fiddled with his cup of tea waiting for Sherlock to digest this information, he sighed looking pained as he continued, "Stevie and Mary took her shopping to get new clothes and Mary said she was just like a rag doll." John sat with his head tilted forward on a slight angle, eyes imploring, lips pressed together.

Sherlock looked at John's expression, - a pathetic attempt at manipulation – rolled his eyes, scrunched his face in frustration and bit out, "Fine John, I will ask Molly out for Valentine's Day as a friend, and _when_ it all goes wrong, I'll be blaming you and Mary."

John smiled sadly, "You won't regret it when you see her Sherlock," John was pensive, "Molly's always been so optimistic, I didn't think anything could dull that light, she wasn't even like this when she broke it off with Tom... We're really worried Sherlock".

Sherlock looked away guiltily, Molly's voice echoed in his head, _You broke my heart Sherlock._ His outward response was caustic, "Well, I hardly think that my taking her on a fake date will be the fix-all you seem to believe it will be John, of course she's not herself, a mad man has targeted her, she can't work, her place got trashed, I should hardly expect her to be singing in the rain John."

John shook his head, well aware that his guilt was causing him to lash out, "Just go and see her Sherlock, after everything she's done for you, you owe her that at least."

Sherlock's face was slack with shock, "You think I'm not going to see her because I can't be bothered? You really think I'm so cold? _I'm trying to protect her John!_ "

"Sherlock, for a bloody genius, you can be incredibly thick. You think you're protecting her by staying away? She thinks you don't care about her! She told Mary she's not going to bother you anymore, she's going to leave you alone and stop bugging you, she thinks she's a nuisance. So, yeah, well done on protecting her mate, well done."

John stood up and slipped his jacket on, pausing in the door he delivered his parting shot, "Go and see her Sherlock, she needs you." One last hard look and he was gone..

John pulled the door shut behind him pulling out his phone as he did so, he waited till he got into the street before placing his call, "Mary, he agreed, tough sell but he took the bait in the end, Molly ready?"

* * *

Molly was playing Monopoly with the afternoon shift guard when the intercom buzzed. Panic flared briefly in her chest before she tamped it down reminding herself that whoever was here had to be on the list to get past the door detail. "Alison?" Molly's voice was hesitant, it was one thing to feel unimportant, it was another to be reckless.

Alison patted Molly's knee and gave her a reassuring smile, "Rupert and Benjamin are down there Molly, if they buzzed the door once it means it's okay, remember? I'll go check, you just sit tight okay?" She checked her phone, it was Sherlock Holmes. Alison rolled her eyes. She went to double check the identity on the monitor, yup, tall, dark and selfish. She pulled open the door and gave him a flat stare. She didn't know Molly very well but from what she did know she was patient, kind, loving, and giving and this idiot played with her like a yoyo.

Sherlock swept his gaze form head to toe in a clinical manner, immediately deducing all of that and more in her countenance, "You can spare me your lectures, where is she?"

"I'll ask her if she wants to talk to you." Alison stated, "Wait here.".

"No thanks."he responded cheerily, ignoring her he headed in the direction of the bedroom. Fearing danger Molly would retreat to where she felt the safest, in this unfamiliar territory that would be her bedroom.

Sherlock knocked softly on the door calling out "Molly? It's me, can I come in?"

"Door's open," Molly called softly.

Sherlock pushed the door open and stepped just inside bracing himself in expectation for Molly to rush at him for a hug, he'd decided he would indulge her in a brief hug before being sensible and cutting it short, he was _looking forward to it._

His gaze adjusted to the dark and centred on Molly, she hadn't so much as twitched from what he could see, - though admittedly he couldn't see much, the blinds had been drawn, casting a murky gloom - she was sitting on the bed with her legs crossed, dressed - undressed - in cream lace edged satin shortie pyjamas, adorned with tiny pink rosebuds scattered in bunches throughout.

His mouth ran dry, he stood rooted to the spot, blinking awkwardly, his brain refused to form words to send to his mouth, he shifted uncomfortably. His biggest hurdle was the fact that his eyes – against his will – kept returning to admire the way her pyjamas framed her petite body to such advantage.

Molly sat on top of the duvet picking at imaginary specks of lint. She focused on her self appointed task declining to look up, - if she had looked at him she would have been shocked to see him struggling with the sight of her bare legs in her new (Stevie approved) pyjama set - "Sherlock," his name a sigh, "You don't have to check on me, for John, okay?"

"Molly, I wasn't.." He began.

Molly put up her hand, "John didn't talk to you?" Her expression dared him to lie, she watched his eyes sliding off her face, not suspecting for a moment he was struggling to look at her because his eyes wished to roam, she assumed he was avoiding eye contact because he felt guilt for attempting to manipulate her.

"Ye-es, he did, but I haven't been staying away for the reasons you think... Molly if you'll just…"

"Sherlock, what do you want? You're here to soothe your conscience? Fine, I'm alive, you've done your duty."

Sherlock gulped, _How the hell did I make such a mess? Does she still love me? Shouldn't I be happy? Isn't this what I wanted? Never mind that, just fix it! Compliment her! She likes compliments._

"Your hair, you've changed it? It suits you, it's…really...pretty?."

"Yeah, Stevie's idea, he thought it would cheer me up," she said sounding anything but cheery..

"Molly?" His voice was hesitant, but determined, "Ah, do you have plans for...Valentine's Day?" He attempted a smile but only succeeded in looking ill.

Molly's head snapped up, and she looked at him like he'd grown another head. " _Valentine's Day?_ Sherlock what's this about?"

"Well, we...ah, haven't spent any time together?" _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , Sherlock felt completely out of his league, judging from the look on Molly's face, she agreed.

Sherlock's stomach plummeted when he realised that she was waiting for him to leave, panicking, he cleared his throat, to try again, one last try, using the only possible chance he had left, _honesty_ , "Molly, I don't want to lose you, aren't we friends?"

Friends? He's going to play the friends card? Molly pinned him in place with her steel gaze, "I thought we were Sherlock, but you've been avoiding me, again. I'm stuck here, I can't work, my flat got trashed, Toby keeps hiding under the couch and you've sent me one message, _one_! Telling me _not to date!_ Cause I'm such a soft target and so undesirable that the only reason anyone would ever date _me_ is to get to _you_?" Molly deflated like a spent balloon and slumped down again to resume her lint picking.

"No! _No_ , that's not what I meant at all, you're very," Sherlock paused and cleared his throat, tilting his head forward to force out the final word. " _Desirable_." Pink roses bloomed on his cheeks, he closed his eyes briefly and continued. "I'm simply concerned, - for you." He finished awkwardly.

Molly stared at him, studying his skittish behaviour, - ears tipped with pink, eyes darting to and fro, looking everywhere but at her own, she'd always been able to read him, and right now she was reading… _Desire? Sherlock thinks I'm desirable? What the hell? Since when?_

Sherlock braved a look at Molly, darting his eyes without turning his head, and saw that his confession had been well worth the discomfort, she looked ready to forgive him his absence. "So…you're unable to work." _Scintillating conversation Sherlock, well done._

Molly nodded looking unhappy, "Mycroft said unfortunately due to all the people coming and going and all the equipment it would be too difficult."

" _Mycroft_? Told you that, himself? _In person?"_ Sherlock's voice was incredulous.

"It's for the best, I wouldn't want to put anyone in unnecessary danger just so _I_ don't have to feel bored."

"I'm sorry Molly," he rumbled, "Please let me try to make this up to you?" Sherlock's hand, moved over hers, his fingers splayed, he rested his hand on hers lightly, shutting his eyes and exhaling deeply, then his sense returned and he jerked away as though he'd been burnt.

Molly watched him screwing his hand up into a ball, staring at it as though he wasn't certain what it might do next. _What was that?_ Confused Molly asked "What have you got in mind Sherlock? Do you need help with a case? With the broadcast?"

Sherlocks focus was still on his hand, his eyes were narrowed as if trying to deduce it's motives, his head turned toward Molly though his eyes lingered till the last moment on his traitorous hand. "I was asking about Valentine's Day? I would like to take you to a restaurant, friends go to restaurants don't they?"

"Well, of course they do Sherlock, but not on Valentine's Day, that's a _romantic_ night."

"Well, we could make an exception couldn't we? Since you're unable to date" Sherlock imbued the word with as much disgust as humanly possible, "You won't have to miss out, and as a bonus we can also spend some time together, I trust you don't find my company completely intolerable?" His eye twitched belying his confident tone..

Molly took in his nervous demeanour and confusion and sighed, "Okay Sherlock, that would be lovely, - thank you. Just let me know what time and how I should dress."

Sherlock expelled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, his face relaxed into a genuine smile which startled Molly, she watched him thoughtfully, _Maybe Stevie isn't crazy? Oh god, here we go again, every time I think I can get over him I get pulled back in._

Sherlock was sifting through his thoughts, he wanted to 'chat,' without entering his mind palace, he'd prefer it appear to be a natural discourse and a bout of near preternaturally still silence would not help that cause. _The results, from the blood! Talk to her about science!_

"So they got the results back from the blood, it was pigs blood, so that's… _good_ …"

Molly raised her eyebrows at him, "It is?"

"Well, its science." Sherlock smiled at Molly proudly.

Molly smiled at him broadly, momentarily happy, Sherlock's smile widened in response, he congratulated himself internally, _John couldn't have done better himself, I know how to keep my girl happy._

Molly sat basking in the glow of Sherlock's happiness at having successfully cheered her up, the fact that Sherlock had made – awkward, stilted, odd, - idle conversation just to make her happy gave her hope that they really could be proper friends. _Now if my hormones could get on board with us just being friends and stop starting a brush fire whenever he so much as glances at me, this could work._

On Sherlock's part he was so caught up in his pride at being the only one capable of making Molly happy in this difficult time that it wasn't until he was back at Baker Street many hours later sorting memories from their evening together that he realised he had referred to Molly as _his_ girl.


	5. Picking out the glass slippers

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and favourited this story! You're all champs! Extra special thanks to my reviewers, mslestat76, goddess1903, Kathmak, and guest penguim, I have to responded to you all by message, but a mention is always nice to show appreciation!**

 **I've had to split the prep and date into two chapters so they're going up today together. If you want to see Molly's dress and shoes that Sherlock will be finding so distracting and pics + links to the restaurants booked come have a look at my post in Tumblr.. I'm sweet-sweet-escape**

 **Chapter five**

 **Picking out the glass slippers**

* * *

 ** _The Valentine's Day date is fast approaching and all three couples - Sherlolly, Warstan, and Mythea need to get ready.. The three men are going all out to make their girls happy.._**

* * *

"Mary, we're going as friends! You've got the same problem as Stevie, _wishful bloody thinking!_ " Molly obstinately ignored the voice in her head chirping happily about the texts, take away coffees and movie marathons over the last week.

"Molly, he's taking you to _The Wolseley,_ you might want to be a just a tad dressed up sweetie."

Molly's eyes flicked to Stevie hoping that he would take pity and save her, he shrugged and raised a finger twirling it around in the universal gesture for spin, Molly made a face at him and then spun around twirling the pleated chiffon skirt out around her slim legs.

Molly stilled and looked at herself in the mirror appraisingly, biting the inside of her lip she swept her axe up and down attempting to see through Sherlock's eyes, she sighed, it was frilly pink chiffon for gods sake! But she had to concede, it was stunning, it was nothing like the black - not right for her personality - dress she'd worn to impress him at the Christmas Eve party all those years ago, it was sweet and innocent but surprisingly sexy too.

She pulled the tag out to have a look, and gasped, "We're only friends, I can't spend this kind of money on a dinner with a friend, it's silly, I'll make a fool of myself! He'll think I'm getting ideas and stop spending time with me!"

"Molly, you're going on a date with the man of your dreams," Molly sucked in a breath ready to retort. Stevie held his hand up and tilted his head warning her off, "Yes, he is the man of your dreams, whether it's a romantic date or not, and he's taking you to The Wolseley, so it's at least a little romantic," again Molly stood ready to refute his statement.

This time Mary handled Molly with an amused glance and an eyebrow raise, a clear invitation to open a dialogue should she choose to. Molly scrunched her face and closed her mouth again, resigned, there was no way she was going to give Mary carte blanche to discuss her relationship with Sherlock, she had a way of skewing things and making it appear as though there was something where there really wasn't.

Stevie smirked at Molly having been dealt with so easily and winked at Mary before continuing, "Romance aside," he stopped briefly to dart a glare Molly's way. "The Wolseley is one of the most expensive and exclusive restaurants in London, dressing in anything less than designer is not an option. Besides, Molly, you deserve to feel like a princess."

"Well, I guess a treat wouldn't go astray," Molly agreed thoughtfully, "But it's very pink. I don't want Sherlock to pick me apart."

Mary smiled at Molly reassuringly,"Molly, it may surprise you to learn this but I think one of things Sherlock most likes about you is your contrast to him, he likes that you're a girl. Well, he does now that he's finally noticed."

"It's. not. a. date!" Each word was enunciated carefully in frustration, Molly's eyes ricocheted back and forth between Stevie and Mary furiously.

"Mmm-hmm," Stevie nodded, " So you've said," he drawled, "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much!" Stevie chuckled, calling over his shoulder as he moved away, "I'm off to pick out the glass slippers!"

Mary laughed at Stevie's antics before returning her attention to her clueless friend, "Molly, Sherlock's taking you to one of the most expensive restaurants in London, why? Just think about that, putting aside that he's," she paused to gather her thoughts before continuing, "Himself." Can you honestly say if he was any other man doing all this you wouldn't be certain of his feelings?"

"Mary there's no point in putting aside the fact that he's Sherlock, I can't judge his behaviour by what others would do, he has his own rules of conduct, and he's the only one who understands his motives.

"Oh Molly, Sherlock's the last person to understand himself, especially when it comes to you." Mary was looking at her with pity in her eyes.

Molly was relieved to see Stevie come towards them waving a pair of nude low slung court shoes with an ankle strap, "I've found the perfect shoe, straps, low heel, closed in toes, Cinderella you will attend the ball!"

Molly gave him an exasperated look, "Stevie, the price?"

Stevie waved her concerns away, choosing instead to focus on all the reasons they were simply the perfect shoe, as Molly swiped her credit card thirty minutes later she cursed herself for a fool.

* * *

"Sherlock?"

"Why are you taking Molly to The Wolseley? Why not Angelo's?"

Sherlock's face gave nothing but irritation away as John watched him hoping to see a little emotion. "Why am I taking Molly to the Wolseley?"

Sherlock's mood appeared to be contagious, John was beginning to feel provoked himself. "Repeating the question back to me is not going to get you out of an answer Sherlock." John warned.

"Well then why don't you just ask the question you're actually thinking then, _John_?"

John sat glowering at Sherlock, Sherlock drew the bow across his Strad in an awful parody of music while feeding John's displeasure right back at him.

"No? Maybe I'll just answer it anyway, hmm? Clear the air? No John, it is not a date, no John, I am not perusing Molly Hooper, I am taking Molly out like you told me too, I'm taking her to The Wolseley because with the riffraff she tends to date she probably hasn't been on a proper date, ever, she deserves to have fun and feel good and forget this whole mess that she's only in due to her association with _me_."

"Well, just keep that in mind when you're out with her Sherlock, no _deducing_ , do not humiliate her mate."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John, "I know what I'm doing John, I've been spending time with her this past week and as I'm sure Mary will agree she is feeling much more like her old self." Sherlock's face was smug.

John angled his head away so Sherlock couldn't see his triumphant smile, _This is too easy, like shooting fish in a barrel, we should have pushed these two together years ago.._

* * *

Mycroft looked up from his desk hearing steps approaching, light, lengthy stride, Stevie, "Ah Stevie" he began pompously, "I trust the preparations have been attended to? Anthea remains unaware?"

"Blissfully so," Stevie returned. "You have reservations at Roux on Parliament Square, the town car will collect Anthea at 6.45pm, she has been told that she is necessary to turn a particular gentleman's head who is rather distracted by brunettes. She is being gracious but she's angry, she thinks you're pimping out your pregnant significant other, I also told her that you won't be there." Stevie winked at Mycroft.

Mycroft waved Stevie off but he wore a rare smile as he did so, all things being equal Mycroft was set to be a father, and now if he was lucky – luckier than he had any right to expect – a husband. As yet they had not disclosed their relationship beyond his own family, - Amy herself did not have any family, agents often did not, the lifestyle tended to attract those with little to lose.

He wondered what Amy was feeling now about her job, she'd done no undercover work since finding about the pregnancy but neither had she expressed a desire to cease working entirely. He was loathe to raise the topic with her lest she would misunderstand and believe him to be pushing her in a certain direction.

* * *

Amy looked at herself critically in the mirror, since becoming pregnant she'd been finding the 'Anthea' mask more and more difficult to slip into, the problem was not inability, she could remain in her Anthea role in her sleep, if government agents could win awards for aliases she'd be up for an Oscar.

Her body and her mind just wanted to claim themselves back, she didn't want to pretend and flirt and use her body as a tool, her body had become sacred, she was creating life now, playing Anthea felt like a betrayal.

Being in love with Mycroft was still a surprise, when she'd met the Ice Man she'd thought him extremely good at his job, but also smug, pompous and cold.

She started to see his heart when Moriarty's obsession with Sherlock spiralled out of control and he feared for his brother's life. The depth of his love kindled a spark of love in her, she recognised his Ice Man persona for what it was, a distraction, serving the same purpose as the beautiful lady a magician uses for misdirection, protecting his all too human heart.

She sighed and smoothed down her form fitting black dress, this would be the last time Anthea would distract her companion for the evening by sending his blood flow away from his brain, she laughed, it would be the last time she would look less than pregnant for the foreseeable future.

Yes, she still looked the part, her pregnancy was not visible to the naked eye as of yet, she was possibly a little bustier but she didn't imagine that would pose much of a problem. She nodded at her reflection took a deep breath and went to grab her clutch, she would do this for Mycroft and then they had to talk.

* * *

Not too far away Molly was also preparing to spend time with a confusing Holmes brother, unlike Anthea who still as yet had no idea she was about to spend Valentine's Day out with Mycroft. Molly did know that her plans involved Sherlock but if anything that knowledge made her even more confused, this was a non-romantic date in the fanciest restaurant she'd ever been on Valentine's Day with the man of her dreams who had spent the last week wooing her.

There was no more accurate a description for his behaviour, his eyes lingered on her when he thought she wasn't paying attention, he'd complimented her new clothes on more than one occasion, he bought coffees, watched movies, he'd even massaged her feet! She had spent the whole week reeling in confusion.

She had a running commentary in her head, the two voices competing and disagreeing as though barracking for opposing teams. One commentator convinced he was in love with her and the other – the voice of reason – explaining away all his behaviour with his lack of understanding of social mores.

She slipped on the silk lingerie set Stevie had insisted she buy to go under the dress, when she had protested that there was no need because it wasn't a real date he'd smirked at her. Mary had told her that it didn't matter if no one saw it, _she_ would know it was there and it would give her confidence, which she would sorely need in a place like The Wolseley.

She shimmied into her dress and wrestled with the zip, face scrunched in concentration, she then fastened the straps on the shoes and smoothed her hands over her silken legs chewing on her lip.

Her hair was down framing her face in soft waves, make up was next, soft neutral colours with a sheer gloss, she simply looked like herself but to the power of gorgeous. She had to hand it to Stevie and Mary, she felt beautiful.

* * *

Mycroft opened the safe and picked up the little velvet box within, it contained his great grandmother's, betrothal ring, it consisted of three large diamonds, the middle one was the largest, the two diamonds bracketing it were each larger than the average stone adorning traditional rings.

He and Mummy had decided that Grandmother's ring would one day adorn Molly's finger because Sherlock had been her favourite.

Mycroft hadn't minded, he'd doted on Sherlock too, he was a beautiful little boy, so inquisitive and sweet. Mycroft had worried about his fragile little heart, when Redbeard had died he'd been broken.

Mycroft decided he needed to teach him how to seal up his heart. Sherlock was so different, so unusual and raw in his ability to feel, he was older, he knew the ways of the world, they would chew up his sweet little heart and spit him out.

So he showed him how to create a mind palace and from there how to lock in his heart away in it. Sherlock had been relieved to learn, he never wanted to hurt like that again. It had been his saving grace for a long time, allowed him to endure university and the barbs his social unease had caused. It had been far from a perfect solution, he'd still hurt badly enough for drugs to be appealing, but Mycroft still believed it had helped.

The problem now, was that it was time to let himself feel again, he'd met a woman who could hold his heart and be trusted to do so but he was terrified.

Mycroft had no idea how to help him, it had taken him years to allow Amy into his heart, Sherlock's fall had make him vulnerable enough to realise that he needed

* * *

Sherlock stood in the shower counselling himself, _This is not a date, you will behave like a gentleman, you will not let your baser desires for Molly cause you to make a foolish mistake, she's your friend, that's it, you'll only complicate everything, she deserves better than a high functioning sociopath, however much she might think she doesn't want better._

Drying off as he left the bathroom he turned straight into his bedroom and threw his towel on the bed, right, hair first, the curse of the curly haired man was that the casual tousled look took quite a bit of time, product, and effort, without a fuss his hair would frizz in all directions.

He selected his aubergine shirt, resolutely ignoring the internal voice jeering at him about his choice of shirt colour.

He assessed his battle plan for the evening, he would make small talk about Molly's old autopsies, during the car ride and when they were first seated, Safe subject, no hurt feelings or romantic overtones there. Once their food arrived he would steer the topic towards anecdotes about some of his more amusing cases that Molly hadn't yet heard him discuss, then during dessert he would encourage Molly to talk about her childhood whilst being careful to keep it light.

He looked in the mirror to be certain that his appearance was pleasing, once again came that pesky voice asking _why_ he needed to look his best to spend time with a friend, after all, he didn't dress well to spend time with John, in fact previously he had not bothered to dress nicely for Molly, so why _now_ the little internal twit wanted to know.

He assured himself that his concern lay solely with the fact he was about to go to an extremely exclusive restaurant and furthermore his appearance was always of importance to him. He was _not_ getting notions about his friend, and even if he was unable to completely remain detached from his growing feelings for her he certainly had no intention of acting on them.

* * *

Mary sat at the kitchen table nursing a cup of peppermint tea, John was due back any minute and he claimed to have the perfect night planned for a Valentine's Day with a pregnant, aching, grumpy wife. She reserved the right to disagree on what the perfect night would be, after all what kind of perfect Valentine's Day date resulted in no sex for a happily married couple? This placenta praevia had a lot to answer for.

Right, time to get dressed, he'd been so adorably eager and proud of himself when he told her about his big plans for Valentine's Day night. Forcing herself to brave the stairs she headed to the bedroom, she felt she owed to him to at least make an effort, she wasn't sure what he was up to but he was clearly going to some trouble.

Her choices were rather limited these days, she chose a wrap dress that did the seemingly impossible for a pregnant woman, offered comfort and style and fit the whole through the pregnancy, seeming to change shape with the wearer as the pregnancy progressed.

Light make up was sufficient, one bonus about being a walking human incubator was that she had the coveted pregnancy glow, thank god for it too because along with the glow she had the not so welcome chipmunk face. She decided she'd forgo perfume, it didn't seem to sit well with her lately, the smell seemed wrong somehow. One last look in the mirror told her she'd do fine.

* * *

John checked his list again, making sure that all his bases were covered, scentless massage oil -check, sparkling grape juice -check, heart shaped Godiva chocolates -check, scentless candles -check, romantic comedy -check, now the final item on his list was stop by Angelo's to pick up the lasagna and garlic bread.

With a pregnant wife currently feeling like an uncomfortable whale he needed to create a magical evening in their own home. He have would loved to plan a night with Mary out on the town to show her off but she was exhausted and they couldn't be too careful with the placenta praevia. So his next best idea had been to spoil her at home, dinner and a movie and a not completely chaste massage to follow, the current moratorium did not extend to all things best done without clothing after all..


	6. Valentine's Day

**Chapter six**

 **Valentine's Day**

 **Valentine's Day! Finally our romantic night is here.. Will Mycroft propose? Will John plan the perfect the night in for a pregnant and grumpy wife? As for Sherlock and Molly its a platonic date right? Cause Sherlock would never allow himself to _feel_..**

 **(go to sweet-sweet-escape on Tumblr to see Molly's outfit!)**

* * *

Molly heard the intercom buzzing and her stomach erupted into flutters, her hands were shaking and she whispered to herself, _This is not a date, this is not a date._

She heard Jenny at the door ushering Sherlock in and her stomach dropped like a lift with it's cable cut. It was one thing to tell her brain that this was no date, quite another for her body to believe it. Her hands were shaking as she picked up her clutch and shawl, she took several deep breaths in an attempt to compose herself, the last thing she wanted to do was to humiliate herself by making Sherlock aware that her feelings for him were still far from platonic.

One last look in the mirror, she nodded to herself, _You can do this Molly,_ adrenaline coursed through her arms and made her fingers tingle. She comforted herself with the thought that least she looked the part, for once she felt equal to the task of walking next to Sherlock, no one had cause to question why he'd be out with someone like her, Stevie had made a doll of her.

Sherlock stood near the door with his phone in his hand texting away when she walked in, at the sound of her light footsteps he looked up expecting to see a repeat of the type of dress she had worn that ill fated Christmas.

 _Oh no, oh god, who's responsible for this?_ His eyes swept down her length taking her in and then back up again, he sighed, this was going to be nightmare, she looked utterly devastating. Her dress perfectly accentuated her innocent sweetness and yet it was sexy, her new shoulder length hair was the perfect complement to it and the shoes were understated and low so that she felt comfortable and exuded confidence.

"M-Molly!" _Bloody hell,_ "You lovely look and I need the bathroom," he burbled out in one shot, he practically sprinted from the room. _You lovely look, oh well done._

"Okay," Molly stood wondering what the hell what was going on, I _s he using drugs? That cannot be simply attraction, not for me, there has to be something else going on, oh god, this is going to be a long night, my hormones are sitting up and panting like a dog begging for a treat and he looks good enough to climb like a tree,_ she sighed and waited for him to come back.

Sherlock stood in the bathroom looking at himself in the mirror making things very clear to his traitorous body. _Molly is a friend, and even beautiful friends are not for touching._ He decided channeling his inner Mycroft would be the best move until he remembered that Mycroft was out fornicating with the best of them, had in fact, gotten Anthea pregnant.

He snorted in disgust and decided he simply needed to go out there and be on guard the whole night, simple, he'd managed to survive torture but he was worried about how to handle a tiny shy pathologist? _Ridiculous, I am Sherlock Holmes, this sort of worry is beneath me._ He squared his shoulders and headed back to take Molly's arm and lead her down to the car like the gentleman he was raised to be.

Insert stars here

Amy made her into the restaurant giving the maître de her name and waiting to be seated. Her eyes widened when she recognised none other than Mycroft Holmes sitting at the table waiting, he stood when he saw her approaching and smiled looking rather boyish in his pride at having tricked her.

She waited till she had been seated and they were alone before she asked him, "Is this is a date Mycroft? Are we going to start telling people?"

"Well, I was rather hoping there might be a bit more news to share," he paused and looked down at his hands trying to summon the courage to continue

Anthea reached across the table and took his hands, "It's just me, Mycroft, you don't have to play the politician for me, I like you best when you're not pretending."

Mycroft nodded, he was so lucky to have found her, and not because of her beauty, - he appreciated her beauty of course, he was human after all, contrary to popular opinion - she understood him, after a life time of being misinterpreted he had found Amy.

If he had a thousand life times to simply ponder he doubted he could comprehend why she had bothered to look at him with the intention of seeing in the first place, but she had, she had become the place where his heart had made its home, hers was the only non familial love he had experienced.

"Amy, will you be my wife?" His voice had none of the smug arrogance he usually shielded himself with, none of the flowery speech he was so prone to, he believed her when she told him she didn't need his theatre.

Amy herself bore none of her own trademark sly persona, her face was gentle and open, she brushed a single tear from her eye and nodded, "I would be proud to Mycroft." She stood up and leaned across the table to kiss him, his heart swelled with gratitude and joy that this perfect creature had agreed to be his own, and that he would belong to her!

Insert stars here

Mary heard John's key in the door and thought _Alrighty, let's go,_ she plastered a big smile on her face and made for the stairs.

"Mary? Are you ready for our date love?"

"I am John," Mary's smile was already turning into a genuine expression of happiness, she walked into the kitchen and saw the candles set out, the smell of lasagna and garlic bread washed over her, "Angelo's?" Her voice was hopeful.

"Yes!" John pulled out the sparkling grape juice with a "Ta-da!" Followed by the Godivas and the DVD.

Mary was overwhelmed, she looked at everything her incredibly sweet and thoughtful husband had done to make the night special and she just couldn't stop herself, unbidden tears gathered on her lashes and she held her hand over her mouth.

John presented the massage oil proudly with a flourish, looking up his face fell, "Mary? What have I..? Are you okay love?"

Mary nodded while tears streamed down her cheeks, "I'm so sorry John, it's the hormones," she explained between sobs, "It's just so perfect, the whole thing, it's exactly what I would pick for myself for a perfect night.

John reached out to Mary and pulled her into his arms, "I've got what I need for a perfect night too Mary, you."

They stood swaying gently together for a long time before Mary finally broke away, "I'm going to need to eat now! The smell is killing me, you can't get between a pregnant woman and her pasta John!" John laughed as he grabbed their plates and flat ware.

Insert stars here

Molly was perched on the edge of the couch when Sherlock walked back in, her brow was furrowed and her lip was caught firmly between her teeth as she worried it back and forth.

Sherlock's eyes seemed to get caught in her teeth with her lip, unable to drag his focus away he licked his own lips in sympathy, causing them both to blush.

Jenny stood in the door way to kitchen stifling her laughter, taking pity on them both. _Good grief, I've seen my eight year old niece more comfortable flirting than this,_ "So, Mr. Holmes," she advised in a no nonsense voice.

Sherlock's eyes flicked over to her, deducing what she was doing and sighing in relief, he had no idea why she would take pity on him, but for once he was all too happy to accept help.

"Molly is to be kept under the strictest supervision at all times? Do you understand me? If she needs to use the facilities I will come to your table and discreetly escort her. Stevie has arranged for there to be no press so that the broadcaster cannot try anything."

Molly was shocked when Sherlock's only response to this was a nod, her eyes darted between them, "Do you two know each other?"

"We both simply find your safety to be paramount Molly." Sherlock smiled and offered her his elbow, shall we?"

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds on Molly's face as she linked arms with him and they walked to the door to begin their date.

Insert stars here

Stevie would have loved to substitute himself for the driver in the town car but there was too many ways for that to go wrong so he made do with bugging it.

He was bouncing a rubber ball to offer distraction while he waited, the repetitive thuds of the ball hitting the hard wood floor, the wall, and the quieter snick as he caught it each time creating a soothing rhythm.

Finally he heard voices, "Thank you, Sherlock," Molly's voice was subdued, good, that was highly likely to be a reaction to his behaviour being odd due to his attraction for her. He knew the way he had dressed her would be impossible for him to ignore, he hadn't changed her, he'd simply enhanced her positive qualities.

There was silence after that, he could only assume that they were darting glances at each other only to skitter away each time their eyes connected.

Why didn't he install cameras? He'd thought a camera much more to likely to be spotted but now he almost regretting that decision. _Maybe this won't work? Maybe the consulting prick really is made of stone?_

Finally Molly broke the silence, "So Mycroft's proposing tonight? New addition to the Holmes family, I bet your mum's excited."

"Hmm, I'm surprised he's got it in him to be honest, Mycroft, a father and a husband? Well, they do say that truth is stranger than fiction." Sherlock was clearly immensely pleased with himself.

Molly apparently did not agree because he uttered an "Ouch! Molly?" Sounding indignant.

Stevie was exultant, with the air crackling with tension between them any touch moved them inexorably closer to that tipping point. A smile reminiscent of Moriarty himself graced his features as he luxuriated in the depths of madness Sherlock Holmes had waiting for him, absentmindedly he continued to bounce his ball.

Insert stars here

Molly laughed at the look of baffled surprise on his face after she had pinched the back of his hand, she desperately tried to ignore the way her accelerated upon the briefest contact with his skin, she glanced at him in time to see him swallowing – hard.

She slumped back against the seat. She couldn't remember ever feeling more confused in her life, _Is he interested? No, even if he is, he won't do anything about it and if I do I'll regret forever. I'm just going to put this nonsense out of my head, he's just feeling odd because of the broadcaster, I feel off my game, so why shouldn't he?_

"So Mary said that John had something planned for tonight, she was a little worried it would turn out to be awful. Any idea what he's up to?" She asked cheerfully.

Sherlock fought his first impulse which was to roll his eyes and offer a short, sharp statement detailing why he couldn't care less about John's boring romantic plans, instead he smiled and said, "Well, John always has fancied himself a ladies man, although he was always better at catching than keeping from what I saw, until Mary that is."

"Hmm, I think his inability to hang on to a girlfriend was strictly related to being your flat mate, I doubt he had any trouble before he met you and look at what happened while you were off saving the world, he fell in love."

Sherlock spluttered out "What do I have to do with John's love life? Surely you're not so foolish as to believe the rumours yourself about mine and John's relationship Molly?"

"I wasn't referring to you and John being an item Sherlock, I was referring to you being a high maintenance flat mate. Not that there would be anything wrong if you had been an item." Molly looked at Sherlock, his face was screwed up in disbelief and anger.

"Well, there would be the ever so slight problem of both of us being heterosexual, that would rather put a damper on things would it not?"

"Oh, well I wasn't sure if you even..well I didn't know." Molly looked over at Sherlock dismayed to see his face was thunderous.

"You didn't know if I what Molly?" He seemed to be nearly vibrating with rage and his voice was taut.

Molly froze, Shit, why did I say that? Now it's going to be awkward and he's angry with me, wait, why is he angry with me? He doesn't care about stuff like this.

"You don't do romantic attachments Sherlock, that's all I meant, I wasn't insinuating that you couldn't, I'm sure you'd be very good, I mean you're so _good_ at everything and you're handsome and fit so if you wanted to you could definitely ah.." Molly realised what she had been saying – babbling – and clapped a hand over her mouth, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

Sherlock's face had gone rapidly from furious to smug and amused, at her expense of course, but it was worth it, she was used to playing the fool for him. He watched her squirm with that insanely sexy half smile of his, "Well, thank you Molly, that's very ah, affirming," his smile had not dimmed one bit.

Molly's insides turned jelly like and she was fairly certain she was drooling, she sat utterly mesmerised by his beauty.

Sherlock was so caught up in the moment that he forgot himself and reached over to her and cupped her cheek, her breath hitched and his eyes flicked to her mouth.

The driver called out "Mr. Holmes? We are here, shall I call the agents to escort you both in?"

Neither of them moved for a long moment, Molly couldn't, there was no way to tear her gaze from his, he had her pinned with his eyes.

Sherlock let his hand slowly slide off Molly's cheek and closed his eyes briefly as though he was struggling to break the connection also.

Molly took in a deep shuddering breath and gathered her thoughts.

Sherlock cleared his throat and called to the driver, "Have them meet us inside, I'll be fine to take _my_ ," ahem, "Molly in."

Molly's eyes widened, she suddenly felt like she'd been dropped into some alternative universe. A really lovely, alternate universe, she could only hope she'd be allowed to stay in it.

The rest of dinner went by in a blur for Molly, she felt like she was flying after their moment in the car, she ordered champagne and decided a couple of glasses would be fine, not factoring in her lack of lunch before coming out due to butterflies.

The champagne loosened her up enough to feel comfortable with Sherlock however and it actually made the night more fun, because she wasn't nervous she was able to chat and make morbid jokes.

Sherlock however was in agony, her presence was absolutely too much for him to bear, she was utterly charming, _charming_! The fact that he was even thinking in such words frightened him, he had never found anyone or anything charming before, neither man, woman, nor beast.

She also looked devastating, he found himself mooning over her while she talked about her life as a child, picturing her as a child and delighting in the idea was the last straw. Molly was mid sentence when he pulled his napkin from his lap and flung it onto the table muttering about needing just a moment, he signalled to Jenny and stalked off.

For once Molly didn't react to his abruptness with confusion or worry, she'd had just enough champagne to feel loose and relaxed and was able to see quite clearly that his discomfort lay with himself and his own feelings about his current reactions to her.

Sherlock headed to the bathroom,meh splashed water in his face and gave himself a firm rundown of the plan, _You will have dessert if she wants it and you will take her back to the safe house and you will keep your hands to yourself._

He relived the feel of her cheek against his palm for a moment and a renegade voice in his head whispered to him, _I bet her skin feels like silk all over her body._ Sherlock squeezed his hands into fists, closed his eyes and took several deep breaths willing his body to cede to his control.

His eyes fluttered open again after several moments, he made his way slowly back to the table, he wouldn't be able to manage this for long, dessert and then a quick ride home and then he could go and bang his head against a wall for a while.

Molly smiled at him when he came back, taking pity on him she told him "I don't really feel like dessert, do you?"

Sherlock's sigh of relief was visible, Molly giggled a little internally, _Clearly Stevie and Mary were onto something here, even if he doesn't want to be, he's attracted to me. She felt a little frisson of pleasure at that thought, Even if he never acts on it, it's nice to know that my feelings are not wholly unreciprocated.._

The car ride back was silent but comfortable, when they arrived at the safe house Jenny went up first, ostensibly to check the rooms but the fact that she could give them a moment was a factor too..

Sherlock got out and offered Molly his hand, she was still feeling exuberant from the champagne. "Thank you Sherlock, that was a truly lovely night, you're a good friend to me." She leaned up and kissed him in his cheek slowly, letting her mouth linger, she rested her hands on his chest for balance as she did so and was rewarded with the feeling of his galloping pulse.

Sherlock's hands locked around her wrists, he could feel her matching pulse pounding through his finger tips. "Molly," his barely above a whisper, "Be safe." When she looked up at him he brushed his lips across hers briefly, then he pulled her flush against him, "Good night Molly."

Jenny appeared again to give the all clear, smirking when she saw them in an embrace, Sherlock nodded to her and disengaged himself from a very dazed Molly.

She started inside, then turned and looked back at Sherlock, "I'm always safe with you Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled gently at her and said again, "Goodnight Molly." They both turned and went their separate ways, neither of them would be able to sleep a wink that night.


	7. Andover!

**Thank you to everyone who has followed, favourited or just read my story! It's very exciting for me..**

 **Thank you especially to Kathmak for reviewing! You're a doll.**

* * *

 **Chapter seven**

 **Andover**

* * *

"So.." John sat in his chair watching Sherlock tapping away on his lap top, still nothing from the broadcaster other than a continuing stream of emails now featuring their security details in the picture alongside them and a string of taunts about how necessary varying your schedule and routes had become these days.

Sherlock sighed, and turned from his lap top, less than pleased about the intrusion, it didn't take a genius to know where John's thoughts lay. "Just say it John," he snapped irritably.

"Well, you kissed Molly, so the whole," John's voice switched to a smug self satisfied time in imitation of Sherlock, " _No John I'm not pursuing Molly_." His expression was challenging, "Well, that wasn't quite true was it?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes dismissively, "It was a friendly gesture John, don't make something out of it that it's not."

" _Oh_ , you kissed her as a _friend_ , sorry my mistake. Right, show me then."

"Show you?" Sherlock asked uncertainly.

"Yeah, show me the kiss, plant one on me, right here," he continued tapping his lip with one fore finger.

"I'm not going to kiss you, John." Sherlock said backing away, horrified.

John crumpled his brow in exaggerated confusion, head pulled back into his neck, "We're friends aren't we?"

"Of course we're friends but that doesn't mean…" Sherlock glared at John nodding in understanding, "Yes, well done John, very clever indeed."

"So maybe not quite so innocent after all?" John was clearly having fun with this. "Just one problem mate, Mary may well kill you."

"No, no! I told you this would go wrong and at that time I would be blaming you and _Mary_. So no."

"Hmmm, I thought he might pull that card, but he hasn't won quite yet, I've still got a few tricks, bring me my phone, will you love?"

"Mary, we did kind of force him to go on the date." John worried, "Maybe we should leave it?"

"No John I'm not calling Sherlock, no he's made a fair point after all."

"Oh, okay, good," the relief in John's voice at the idea of letting the matter drop palpable. Moments later confusion once again took the reins, "Mary? Who are you calling?"

"I'm going to call Clare, her brother Joe is _single_ and _handsome_ , if Sherlock just wants to be friends he won't mind a little competition will he?" Mary winked and barked a single mirthless laugh.

"How handsome is he Mary?"

"Very." Mary said grinning.

John's eyes glinted, his top lip twitched, "Good. Get him Mary."

"I intend to love...I intend to," she nodded with a smile which would have turned Sherlock's stomach had he been there to witness to it.

* * *

Molly was spreading marmalade on a slice of over cooked toast when her phone signalled a text, she sighed and picked it up, stomach clenching in foolish hope it would be Sherlock, even as she knew it wasn't.

 _Engagement party Friday night, Baker Street, 7.30. Wear the DKNY jeans,with the black lace camisole and green shimmery MaxMara blouse and the sparkly sandals. DON'T ARGUE, and wipe that look off your face._

Molly groaned, _Why can't he just let it go? Whatever the hell made him kiss me, - was it even a bloody kiss? – is clearly gone, and he's stopped coming over, just like I knew he would if he and Mary forced it. Okay, I'm just going to go and pretend it didn't happen, I will wear the outfit, but just for confidence, I don't want to lose him altogether._

She pushed her plate away and let her head fall to the table, banging it a few times in frustration, causing the plate to jump, why can't things just go back to how they were?

"Molly?" Molly's female security agent today, Jerry was currently online looking up holiday destinations for her and her accountant fiancée's get away coming up..

"I'm fine Jerry, sorry." _Just sexually frustrated, bored, lonely, home sick for time on my own, worried about Toby._. Molly smiled wryly and gathered up her toast which she suddenly had no appetite for.

Until the broadcaster made some sort of move other than sending strings of emails with surveillance footage coupled with taunts she was trapped in this waiting room of an existence.

* * *

The party was in full swing, the happy sounds of music, talking and laughter spilling out into the street and down the stairs of 221B. It was the very definition of a successful party for - wonder of all wonders - even Mycroft appeared to be enjoying himself.

The Holmes' parents were sitting side by side, both looked as though they had eaten rainbows for lunch, their smiles wider than their faces.

Familiar faces were scattered here and there with champagne and nibbles in various hands, all with expressions of joy in it's many forms.

Sherlock stood apart with a sour look on his face observing everybody with considerably less than good will. He tried to convince himself that his attitude was anger in response to the sheer frivolity of having a celebration with the broadcaster still looming, but that was only the partial truth of it.

The bulk of his ill temper lay with the couple deep in conversation across the room. Molly stood talking to Mary's 'friend' who just happened to come along to the impromptu engagement party that Stevie had organised. She smiled up at him while tugging on her sleeves and rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, she looked delectable Sherlock thought she looked delectable, which was problematic given that clearly the idiot Mary had bought here specifically to meet her thought so too.

His eyes were dilated, his breathing quicker than his weight and fitness level could account for, not to mention the disturbing fact that he had touched her arm three times by his count in the last five minutes alone. He laughed at every other thing Molly said to him and Sherlock knew damn well humour was not Molly's strong suit, so attraction was either making him nervous or he was laughing to please her in the hopes of being pleased in return later.

Sherlock cast his eyes around the room looking for the party responsible for this travesty, spotting Mary nursing a plate of hors d'oeuvres he stalked over to tower over her glaring, "Mary, may I talk to you please?" Sherlock spat through a teeth clenched smile.

Mary looked up at him, laughter in her voice as she responded, "Why whatever's the matter Mr. Holmes? Something _bothering_ you?"

"Mary," he hissed under his breath.

Mary made a show of getting out of her seat, forcing him to offer his hand to her, she winked at him, "Thank you Sherlock."

Sherlock strode down the hall taking all of three steps to reach his bedroom, he stood waiting for Mary impatiently. She moved rather slowly, between her shorter legs and pregnancy waddle, when she crossed the threshold of his bedroom Sherlock pushed the door shut and whirled around to face Mary firing words at her, "What sort of a game are you playing Mary?"

"Game, Sherlock? I wasn't aware of any games going on, just a night of drinkies in which sadly I cannot partake – actually neither can one half of the couple of honour now that I think about it – so maybe you're referring to a drinking game? Hmm.." Mary's face was a parody of deep thought.

"Don't be smug, Mary," he admonished her.

"Oh, sorry! I'm stealing your bit." Mary maintained an innocent and bewildered expression, difficult as it was while fighting the desire to laugh out loud.

"Who. Is. That. Man?" His face marble in the moonlight.

Mary was rather surprised he could force the words out from between such tightly clenched teeth, she wondered idly how close he was to cracking a tooth.

Refusing to feel intimidated she lifted her chin allowing the hint of a smile to grace her features, "He's a _nice_ man Sherlock, Molly could do worse, she _has_ done worse, as you well know." She did not so much as twitch while he stood staring into her.

"Why did you trick me into taking her out if you were going to auction her off to the highest bidder anyway?"

His gaze remained steel but Mary could see the pain underneath, He's afraid, he's afraid she'll pick Joe. Taking pity on him she admitted in a soft voice, "She didn't know I invited him Sherlock."

He ran his hands through his hair and whirled around, "Why is she talking to him then? She isn't talking to _me_." His voice was strained, a gossamer wisp of sound.

Sighing she told him, "She's talking to him because _he_ talked to her Sherlock." Mary willed him to understand.

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed, "I never wanted…I never wanted to have these feelings, I don't…know..I don't understand." He stood like a little boy, fists clenched, brow furrowed.

"Just tell her that, although leave out the never wanted to part."

"Tell her what Mary? That I can't sleep because her face flashes before me whenever I close my eyes, that when I'm next to her I have to stop myself from pulling her into my lap? I've never even had a relationship Mary, she deserves _better_."

"Does John deserve better than me Sherlock? One of those women who got lost in your slip stream?"

"What? No! He needs you, the way you are, he likes this world, best friend and wife, he has a type, you're perfect for him."

"Would you say that Tom," Sherlock frowned a question at her, Mary sighed and rolled her eyes, " _Meat Dagger,_ Sherlock," he nodded in understanding, "was the type of man you mean?"

"He was an idiot Mary."

"Intelligence aside, he was the nice, normal, staid type of family man you believe Molly deserves, right?"

Sherlock looked up, eyes wide, mouth a perfect circle, "Molly is like John!" He declared, he grasped Mary by her arms and kissed her on the forehead muttering, "Genius Mary, pure genius." He swept out of the room leaving Mary in his wake smug with a look of pure satisfaction.

Sherlock scanned the room and realised with a sinking heart that Mycroft was clearly about to about to give some sort of a speech and knowing Mycroft it would be exceedingly long winded, he sought out Molly's whereabouts, she was chatting with Joe whose eyes were darting glances towards her far too often to be anything innocent. _Time to lay claim to what is mine._

Sherlock caught Molly's eye and gave her a slow suggestive smirk, she coloured and he winked at her. Without taking his eyes off her he made his way across the room and sat down next to her on the opposite side than his competition.

Molly looked at him out of the corner of her eye without moving her head, eyes ricocheting away when they met his. He could feel her hand on the couch next to him fidgeting nervously.

Sherlock had still not taken his eyes from her for even a moment, he reached over and curled his fingers around her wrist, her pulse was jumping under his finger tips, she stiffened but refused to look at him.

He turned her hand over so the palm lay facing up and traced patterns on it causing her breath to hitch, Joe glanced at her and she cleared her throat. He threaded his hand through hers and held her hand with their fingers linked together, dragging his thumb back and forth, Molly's answering swallow was so loud he heard rather than saw it. Leaning in close to whisper in her ear, his breath was hot and wet causing Molly to shiver, right as his lips pressed together to form her name Mycroft called to him.

Every single guest present swivelled their eyes towards him in unison, Sherlock slid away smoothly and without reaction, almost no one wondered whether or not he had in fact been millimetres from a blushing Molly.

The exceptions to this ignorance were as to be expected; Mary, Mycroft, Stevie, and Sherlock's mother all wearing identical expressions of relief and disappointment. Relief that he'd finally been about to admit to having feelings for the only woman who was likely to put up with him and disappointment that the moment had been interrupted.

Sherlock stood and crossed the room to stand next to Mycroft, surprisingly his question was simple and to the point, "Sherlock, I would be honoured if you would stand as my best man. Sherlock nodded and for the first and possibly last time ever managed to keep any caustic comments to himself. Their parents looked on with joyous – albeit slightly disbelieving – faces.

Mycroft held his hand out to Anthea and said "I'd like to introduce my fiancée, Amy," the name Anthea could be heard muttered in the crowd, it was silenced with a bleak look from Mycroft, " _Amy_ and I are expecting."

Violet Holmes made a strangled sound halfway between a scream and a laugh and clapped her hand over her mouth, she all but launched at Amy to embrace her and welcome her to the family. Siger was fast on her heels, spherical droplets shining along the rims of his eyes like jewels affixed to his eyelashes. Amy whispered in his ear that she would love him to walk her down the aisle and the tears began to make their descent one by one, flowing freely as he embraced her and kissed her cheek, thanking her for such a great and unforeseen honour, and saying again and again " _A daughter,_ I have a daughter."

The room hushed into a happy silence until a teary gasp broke the delicate balance, causing the room to erupt into a cacophony, talking and laughing, hugs and congratulations filling the air.

Stevie graciously agreed to plan the wedding with Amy and Violet, promising not to over tax Amy while they looked at venues and tasted cakes and all manner of things a wedding required.

Sherlock was caught up in the madness but didn't miss Joe asking for – _and getting_ – Molly's number. He fixed his – now fake – smile in place only dropping the pretence long enough to offer a glare to Mary.

Mary looked down, guilt pooling in her stomach, she was surprised Molly agree to a date with Joe minutes after flirting with Sherlock. As soon as Molly was away from Joe Mary went and sat next to her to whisper, "So, you and Joe huh? Bit of a turn up!"

"Really Mary? He knows no one here and there aren't any other single ladies here tonight unless of course you had Mrs Hudson in mind?" Molly grinned at Mary, who had the good grace to look embarrassed.

"Molly, maybe it's none of my business but you seemed to have some sort of moment with _Sherlock_ right before you gave your number to _Joe_. "Mary looked at Molly with a worried motherly expression which took the sting out of the accusation.

"Mary, your eyes have deceived you, I didn't give him my number at all," Mary frowned and tilted her head, "I gave him _Meena's_ number, he's exactly her type and she's single and lovely and not currently being confused by a man she's been in love with for years with no hope of reprieve." Molly attempted to be cheerful during the admission but did a poor job of covering how she really felt about the ever confusing detective.

"Molly, look at Sherlock, look at how he feels right now thinking that you gave your number to another man, he's not confused any more. Stay when everyone leaves and talk to him." Mary was worried that Molly would give up soon.

Molly worried her lip weighing her options, an internal battle raged in her mind for the next couple of hours as everybody celebrated.

Every time she snuck a glance at Sherlock she would see his eyes sliding away, his head never once turned her way but his eyes found her again and again. She wanted to stay but the terror of rejection was crippling.

After what felt like ten hours to both Molly and Sherlock, - Molly because she knew she must face him when everyone left and Sherlock because every time she talked to Joe bile rose up in his throat and he had to resist the urge to simply walk up to her and grasp her hand and lead her away to his bedroom - the celebration finally wound down.

John and Mary were the last to go, John darting anxious glances between Sherlock and Molly as they left, Mary hugged Sherlock whispering "Tell her how you feel," as she did so.

Finally it was just the two of them, Molly sat on the settee looking about as comfortable as a mouse in snake's nest. Sherlock pulled on a cheery face asking, "Molly? Aren't the agents waiting for you?"

"I asked them to give me a minute, I'm safe in here - with you." Her eyes were wide and her breathing erratic.

"I really don't need help to clean up Molly, Mrs Hudson will help me in the morning, she's gone to have her herbal soothers right now.." He made a show of picking up a few paper plates and stacking them awkwardly.

Molly wondered if he'd ever really had to clean anything, he had a knack for surrounding himself with people willing to do the mundane tasks for him.

Sherlock stood suddenly and dropped the plates he was holding, they simply slid right out his hands, when they hit the floor they split apart and a mess of food spilled out in all directions. Sherlock stood looking into the distance at nothing, eyes flicking back and forth mumbling to himself about stupidity from what Molly could hear.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?"

"I have to go! Andover!" He grabbed his Belstaff and wound his scarf on as he yanked the door open.

"What's in Andover?" Molly asked, "Should I come? Sherlock?" Her eyes and mouth bracketed with lines radiating and telegraphing her confusion and fear.

" **Military base!** " He boomed as he pounded down the stairs.

"Okay then," Molly whispered to herself, she gathered her coat, scarf and bag and headed down the stairs herself to meet her detail.


	8. Finally

**To everyone who has favourited and followed me or my stories thank you! It makes me feel all gooey.. Your patience is greatly appreciated in this super slow burn.. I hope this chapter is well received.. It doesn't start off so well for our girl however...**

 **extra special thanks goes to Dananann B for reviewing.. All we know so far is there is a military base at Andover...**

 **Chapter eight**

 **Finally**

"Stevie can you just drop the subject? I don't want to think about it anymore okay? I don't know why he kissed me and I don't know why he held my hand, he probably doesn't know himself." Molly added bitterly, her head was low, she was still in her pyjamas and she clearly had half her make up from the previous night's party.

"Why you didn't you talk to him? I thought you stayed to talk to him?" Stevie quizzed her.

"I tried to, he wouldn't talk to me, he ran out." Molly threw her hands up.

"He did _what_?" Stevie sounded incredulous.

Molly sighed, "It seemed like he had a lead, but I kinda just think he was just looking for an excuse to leave."

"Well, when _are_ you going to talk to him?" Stevie asked exasperated.

"I don't know, he's gone to Andover, something about a military base."

"Andover?" Stevie's voice was faint, he felt his vision tunnelling, his palms felt sweaty, he scrambled to cover his reaction with an emotion connected to Molly. "How can he do that you?' His voice, normally so modulated was shrill.

Molly looked up in surprise, "Stevie?"

"He's just messing you around! I don't want to see you hurt, you deserve better."

Stevie's internal voices were going crazy, his father was telling him, _You useless little fairy, did you really think you could win where Moriarty himself failed?_

Moriarty appeared next as though his father had tagged him in, his Irish lilt still achingly beautiful even in his imagination. You need to distract him Seby, he's easy, so easy, get him to chase her.

"Stevie, you worry too much, I'm fine, honestly," when Stevie didn't respond Molly started to feel concerned, "Stevie?"

His mother chimed in next and he had to stop himself was laughing out loud, he'd been wondering where she'd gone.. _Pay attention you little poof, if I was there I'd clip yer ear for you._

Stevie's head rose up unsteadily and he blearily focused on Molly, his eyes were bloodshot and he felt the beginnings of one of his special headaches. "Sorry Molly," his voice scratchy and thin, "I feel a bit poorly."

Molly was shocked, his face seemed to have aged ten years in the space of a minute, his skin was grey and his eyes bloodshot, "Stevie, do you need a doctor? You look very unwell."

"No," Stevie swayed in his seat, "Migraine, I need to go Molly, I'll call you okay?" He stumbled to the door and fumbled with the locks until Molly came and opened them for him.

"Are you sure you can get home Stevie? You shouldn't be on your own in this state."

"Cab," he gasped out, "I'll get the agents to get me one." He fell through the door in his haste to exit.

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Stevie woke the following morning with a clear head and a plan already forming for the best way to deal with the great Sherlock Holmes poking around Andover. It all hinged on Molly, if he thought Molly was in danger he would come back immediately and not only that, he would be distracted.

Quick trip to a particular former associate of Moriarty's and he could have Sherlock running back tonight, which at least will minimise the chances of him finding anything there at the base.

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Molly decided a walk to pick up the ingredients for a chicken soup for Stevie would be just the thing, she needed something to take her mind off the constant cycling thoughts of Sherlock.

Stevie had claimed that although he felt much better now he'd be a fool to turn down Molly's chicken soup.

The agents were duly given notice and they all set off together in procession like a marching band on parade.

Molly was finding this was getting old. She knew she needed the protection and she also knew she was damn lucky to have it but she just desperately wanted to have her old life back.

She wanted to go to work and walk by herself and work out whatever the hell was going on with Sherlock without an audience..

Feeling a sting on her neck she slapped at it haphazardly, her vision blurred and she felt whoozy, as she squeaked out "Bee?" Her legs seemed to dissolve, she heard the pounding of feet on the pavement, commands bring shouted as she hit the ground with her hip and felt her head rushing to join it.

A hand cradled her head before it hit and the last thing she heard before everything faded to black was "Call Holmes!" Yes, she thought, call Sherlock.

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Monitors beeping, nurse's crepe soled shoes were shuffling, wheels were squeaking and there was a low hum of chatter, hospital, why am I? Did I collapse at work? Molly became increasingly aware of a desperate thudding pain in the back of her head, she tried to open her eyes but they seemed to have a gravity of their own. A chink of light was a knife of pain through her skull causing her to gasp.

The sound caused a commotion somewhere to her left but she couldn't see what it was, not all of her senses were dulled however, she would recognise that aftershave anywhere. "Sherlock?" She felt his large hand envelope hers in his and she sighed in relief.

Everything flooded through her brain in a jumble, the engagement party, Joe, the soup. She felt a straw press against her lip.

"Drink Molly, it'll help with the head ache." Sherlock grabbed the button to summon the nurse with his free hand and pressed it on firmly, then he let his hand have its way and smoothed it over Molly's hair in a comforting gesture, enjoying the silly texture.

Molly's brain was fluttering about in a flap, remembering he had gone to Andover right after thinking she had accepted a date with another man! "Sherlock? I didn't…erm, I wasn't.."

"Sshh Molly, just rest, everything's going to be fine." Sherlock heard the nurse bustling in and told Molly "I'll be right back, just need to make a quick phone call away from the equipment. I'll send Mary in, she just arrived."

Molly's head was fuzzy but she didn't miss the obvious discrepancy between his knowledge that Mary was newly outside and needing to make a phone call away from her. "Sherlock, it's not his fault."

Sherlock's only answer was the sound of him sweeping out the door, he passed by Mary on her way in.

Mary took in his countenance and spared a thought for Mycroft in the next few moments. She pushed the door open and smiled at Molly. "Feeling a bit sore sweetie?"

"Mary, what happened? I got stung by a bee, and then everything sort of..went strange." Molly's eyes were twitching and half closed, keeping them open was a fight, they felt hot and gritty. Every time they closed she felt her self start to drift off into a ready dream and jolted back tossing her head a little to remain conscious.

"You took a tranquilliser dart in your neck on your way to the supermarket and you're feeling the after effects from the drugs they had to give you to reverse it" Mary felt sick, her stomach twisted and tumbled at the dark thoughts that kept popping up, she kept imagining how things would have worked out if the dart had've been a bullet.

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"Sherlock, I promise you we will have upped her security, it should come as no surprise to know that she is dear to all of us." Mycroft assured Sherlock as soon as he answered.

"Mycroft," Sherlock's voice was taut to snapping point, "What if that had been a bullet? I could have _lost_ her." Tears were sliding silently down his cheeks, he closed his eyes trying desperately to regain control.

"Sherlock," Mycroft's voice was soft, "You have to take her home, that's the only way you can ensure her safety."

"Double her detail Mycroft," Sherlock's voice brooked no argument..

"Sherlock you cannot neglect.."

"I am taking her to Baker Street Mycroft," he interrupted, "Nonetheless, DOUBLE THE DETAIL," Sherlock ordered.

Mycroft's voice was gentle and full of sorrow, "Yes, little brother, of course, it's already taken care of, Stevie is making arrangements as we speak." Sherlock gushed out a breath, hung up his phone and turned on his heel to head back to Molly's room.

The agents posted outside the room saw him returning and stood up straighter looking terrorised as they had each and time he had passed them all day. Each and every one of them was terrified because they had messed up and let his Mrs. get hurt.

Had you tried to argue with them on the sticky point of whether or not Molly was in fact his Mrs. they would have maintained that she was under threat of death, a lie detector would have been unable to find a dissenter in the lot. They all knew the difference in reaction between a friend and a spouse, a friend could rip you in half it's true, but only a spouse could generate the look of pain and desperation that Sherlock had worn ever since he found out Molly had been hurt.

They waited for him to start throwing punches and threatening jobs and they were each perfectly willing to let him vent some of his anger and fear on them.

Sherlock didn't so much as glance their way, he couldn't allow himself to, if he started dishing out retribution like he oh so badly wanted to he wouldn't be able to maintain his gentle composure for Molly, at the moment that's all he wanted, to be whatever she needed.

The moment he appeared in the door Molly's eyes slotted into his and the world shrank for the both of them them to the space between them, "Molly," she looked so tiny in the hospital bed, shrunken by fright.

"Sherlock, I'm okay, I'm fine now, my head hurts, my hip's bruised, I'm _okay_ , the nurse has taken the drip out and I'm allowed to leave once they write the discharge summary."

Mary sat watching them orbiting each other, there would be no misunderstandings to keep them apart tonight, they couldn't look away from each other, she was privy to a far too intimate moment, she may have blushed before standing up and saying, "I'll leave the two of you to it then, shall I? I'll tell John to wait until tomorrow to come."

Neither of them looked at her as she gathered her things and got out of there, Sherlock mumbled a thank you to Mary and Molly a quick bye, but they didn't take their eyes off each other.

"Sherlock, please sit down." Molly's voice quavered but her gaze remained steady.

Sherlock sat down on the bed as far from her as he possibly could and sat with hands linked together waiting.

Molly took a breath and decided to jump in at the deep end. "Why did you kiss me Sherlock? And hold my hand?" Molly's voice was barely a whisper and her hands were trembling, she felt like a scared little mouse.

She had no idea how brave she appeared to Sherlock, she was magnificent, so brave in the face of overwhelming emotions, if anything she seemed afraid _not_ to deal in sentiment. He cleared his throat buying time, "Maybe this isn't the best time to discuss.." He trailed off uncomfortably.

Molly sighed, "Sherlock this is too confusing, it's not fair, you kiss me, you ignore me, you hold my hand, you ignore me, you know how I feel about you, why are you being so cruel?" Her voice cracked at the last.

Sherlock shuffled closer and took her hand pulling it to him, "I wanted to kiss you Molly, I wanted to hold your hand," he paused thinking, "I want to do those things again but it's not a good idea." His voice bore traces of resignation and disappointment.

" _Why_ isn't it a good idea Sherlock? I want to, you want to, so _why_? Why not?"

"Molly, you accepted a date with another man, it's pretty clear that you want to move on." His mouth was turned down at the corners, he stared down at Molly's hand hoping it wasn't too obvious how much he was hurting.

"I didn't accept a date with him Sherlock, I gave him _Meena's_ number after checking with her it was okay, I can't accept a date with him when I have feelings for someone else, that wouldn't be fair on him or me." Sherlock's head came up slowly until his eyes were crossed hers.

"No date?" His voice was husky, eyes hopeful.

"No date," Molly agreed, lips tilting up, eyes shining with anticipation.

Sherlock slid towards her slowly while pulling her hand to drag her closer, their eyes were welded together, sparks flying, the air dense, causing matching heaving chests. He reached up and cupped her cheek in much the same way he had on their date, only this time there was no interruption.

Molly was trembling and when his lips finally brushed against hers ever so gently she whimpered. The sound cracked the still atmosphere and Sherlock yanked her hard to pull her across into his lap, the blankets tangled around her legs.

Molly moaned as their mouths crashed against each other over and over. She sought his tongue with hers and they both sighed as their tongues swirled and slipped against one another.

Molly's hands ran up across his upper arms and shoulders and finally sunk into his hair, she murmured a sound of appreciation into his mouth, she had been desperate to her run her fingers through his hair since the moment she'd met him, over time that desire had never waned but only intensified.

Sherlock's hands cradled her head his fingers curled slightly as he dragged them back and forth across her scalp, the sensation sent tingles running down her spine, she had watched those hands for years, elegant, strong, big, they had starred in many fantasies.

After what felt like hours Molly pulled back to look at Sherlock, her breath was shallow and swift, his lips were swollen, hair roughed up from her ever questing hands, eyes dilated, she sighed, he was so extraordinarily beautiful and she loved him so deeply. "Sherlock?"

His eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled gently, his affection was clear in his eyes, echoing the sentiment he expressed in that hallway on their day together, "No Molly, I won't change my mind, I'm not playing a game," his voice was genuine and his face open.

Molly felt tears forming in her eyes, she felt like a fool but she'd waited for so long for him, she felt overwhelmed, Sherlock pulled her back against his chest, "Molly, I know you deserve better than me, but I cannot resist you any longer, I'm not strong enough and now, I'll never want to stop."

The heated passion of a moment ago had washed out like a tide leaving a loving, comfortable lull that felt like coming home after a long journey, Sherlock rubbed Molly's back and planted kisses on the top of her head, "Molly?" He whispered.

"Hmm" came her sleepy sounding reply, she snuggled against him, he was so warm and he smelt so wonderful.

"I'm in love with you, do you still love me? Do you still want me?" His voice was strong but uncertain, he had steeled himself just to ask, much like ripping off a plaster, just do it fast and it's over.

"Sherlock, I've never ever stopped loving you, wanting you." Molly's voice was contented and sure.

"Are you _in love_ with me? John tells me there's a difference." His voice held trepidation, he half expected her to dash his hopes even now.

"Yes Sherlock, I'm in love with you, I've been in love with you for years." Molly laughed self deprecatingly at her inability to not love him.

"I'm sorry Molly, I was afraid, I've been aware of my feelings for quite some time now."

"It's okay now Sherlock, just don't leave me again, okay?"

Sherlock squeezed her close and then ran a hand up under her chin to tilt her face up towards his again. When their lips met again it was gentle and slow and simply love being expressed physically.

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"Mrs Hudson I'm fine really, you don't need to do anything, I can get a takeaway," Molly smiled reassuringly and was about to continue when Sherlock butted in.

"I can get a take away if Molly needs to eat Mrs Hudson, she's _my_ responsibility, my house, _my_ …guest."

"Well," she started uncertainly, clearly not comfortable with the idea of Sherlock looking after a fellow human being, she doubted whether or not he could keep a house plant alive, let alone a female human adult who had just suffered a trauma and was in need of emotional support amongst other things.

Her eyes widened when she looked up to see Sherlock sitting on the settee next to Molly with a hand on her thigh rubbing back and forth and whispering in her ear, Molly giggled and blushed and admonished him, "Sherlock!"

Mrs Hudson stood staring for a moment, completely confused as Sherlock wound a hand into Molly's ponytail and her to him for a kiss, he pulled back giving her a look that could've melted a block of ice and said without so much as glancing at her, "I've got it Mrs Hudson, thank you."

"Oh! _Oh_ , of course, I'll just leave you to ah..just, I'll just go!" Flustered she all but ran the door and back down the stairs mumbling to herself about needing warning when people were about undergo serious life changes.

Sherlock stood up and held his hand out to Molly, when she grasped it he pulled her towards him, when she was flush against him he grabbed hold of her waist and picked her up, leaning to meet her half way as she came up towards him he nipped at her lips enticing her into another kiss.

Molly's arms wound around his neck and her legs around his waist, his kisses were deep and almost seemed to devour her, she had never been more thoroughly kissed than this.

She became vaguely aware that they were moving but was too caught up in the electric thrill of his mouth on hers, his tongue winding around her own to take much notice. Her stomach whooshed when she suddenly began falling backwards, her back connected with his bed and she gave a little sound of surprise.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock's voice was throaty, his breath quick and hard. He held the bulk of his weight off Molly while looking down at her with love pouring out of his eyes.

"Oh yes," she breathed, "Kiss me again and I'll be perfect," she pulled at him hard and he toppled, losing his balance and landing squarely on top of her. She arched up towards him and he groaned and dragged his lips across hers, plunging his tongue into her mouth and rolling them so they lay on their sides.

They continued to lazily explore each other's mouths and let their hands roam freely, there was a lost of lost time to make up for and neither of them ever wanted to ever let the other go again.

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 **I will be keeping this story a T rated fic because I don't wish to push anyone out who has been reading this based on it being a T.. I would however be up for a smutty out take if there's any interest in such an endeavour? Let me know what you guys think? Hope this made up a little for the slow burn..**


	9. Mine, all mine

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 **If you are interested in the M rated version of this chapter, it is the extended, uncut version and it will be posted now under the title Mine, only mine *adults only special***

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 **Chapter nine**

 **Mine, only mine**

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It didn't take long for their wandering hands start to find their way under each other's clothes. That little voice inside that had been tempting him to touch her for what felt like forever, was exultant, revelling in delight at her sweet perfection.

They came together at last and it was everything Molly hoped it would be and so much more than Sherlock expected it ever could be.

Molly looked up at Sherlock, he had his eyes squeezed closed, buffering, unable to process what had just happened. Molly's stomach squeezed and clutched, while she waited.

Finally his eyes sprung open and landed on Molly, "I love you, Molly," he smiled an innocent open smile.

Relief flowed through her limbs releasing the knots forming in anticipation of the axe about to fall, Molly was certain no one had seen Sherlock this unshielded since his childhood.

He shuffled over and lay down next to her, "You're not going to say it back? I declare my love and you leave me hanging like a fool?"

Molly giggled, "I think you've finally _stopped_ being a fool, you know there's never been anyone for else for me, you _know_ I love you," rolling over on her side she bent her arm up and leaned on her elbow, smiling, "I love you, Sherlock, more than I've ever loved any other, okay?"

Sherlock rolled to his side mirroring her position, his expression serious, "More than Tom?" He looked down while waiting for the answer.

Molly frowned at him, "Of course, more than Tom, I broke off the engagement didn't I?"

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, "But you _were_ going to marry him or you wouldn't have said yes," Sherlock maintained eye contact this time, wanting to see the truth.

Molly sighed, "Sherlock, I've loved you for a lot longer than you've loved me," Sherlock drew a breath and opened his mouth to respond, Molly pressed a finger to his lips, "Just listen," Sherlock nodded, for once not arguing. "I know you trusted me, I know I mattered, but you didn't _love_ me. Tom was," she paused to gather her thoughts, trying to be fair to Tom, he'd deserved better from her, he couldn't help his inability to be another man.

"Tom was a lovely man, I thought I could make him enough, if I just tried hard enough, and when you weren't here, _most_ of the time I could. I'd cry when he was asleep, wondering if you were still alive, if you thought about me -ever," Molly's eyes filled with the memories of those long dark nights.

"We hadn't been together for long when he asked me why I was always crying, - I told him I had allergies, that I always looked I'd been crying. I didn't want him to know I was crying for another man who didn't, wouldn't, couldn't? Love me and who was 'dead' anyway."

"I'm sorry Molly, I'm so sorry." Sherlock rolled to his back and pulled Molly to rest on his chest, he pulled the throw Mrs Hudson kept on the end of his bed, ' _In_ _case you get cold, dear, you're not a machine you know, much as you may wish to be_.'

"If I could fix things I'd let myself fall sooner Molly, but I needed to grow a lot, I would have crushed you, I was.. _angry_."

"I know, I wasn't ready either, I was too in awe of you, too cowed by your presence," Molly laughed, "So much for the post sex glow, we've gotten all maudlin instead."

Sherlock started sliding his hand up and down her body gliding in and over curves, "Maybe we should try again?" His voice already husky with want.

"Hmm," Molly tapped her fingerr on her lip pretending to think it over, Sherlock grinned and kissed her neck, "Sherlock," she whined.

Molly awakened something in him that he was almost certain no one else on the entire planet could inspire. He didn't believe in soulmates, but neither did he believe in coincidences either, so where did that leave him? John provided friendship and Molly the romantic, however it worked, he needed them, he made a mental note to check with John if Sherlock and Mary were those for him respectively.

They lost themselves in each other again, emotions running high, but far from losing his mind like he'd been sure he would, his thoughts had coalesced, flowing like a silver river, cool and clear, moving past and through him slowly, not taking focus away from the moment, rather, enhancing it.

Sherlock's only thought during their coupling became Molly, Molly, Molly, awareness crept back in slowly, with it the realisation that he was sitting up with Molly embracing him as he sobbed and called her name over and over.

Molly remained silent, she didn't move, she wasn't worried or upset, just patient, as she always had been, just letting him feel what he must, years without emotional release had conspired to turn him into a human bomb.

Should the detonation have come from a negative source it may well have sent him over the edge of sanity, he certainly wouldn't have been the first genius to be lost in such a fashion, but that was not to be Sherlock's fate, he had Molly. Tiny, seemingly fragile Molly, deceptively dismissible, strong enough to carry him while he rode it out.

Years ago he'd thought The Woman strong, now he saw her for what she was, a thug and a bully in a pretty body using sex as her weapon of choice and protecting her own heart – such as it was– by using others as playthings, convinced of her own superiority, fooling herself she was noble like a lion. She was a female Moriarty, charming, empty, and in the end – no doubt – insane.

Sherlock opened his eyes to focus on Molly, far from looking worried, she was serene, head on his shoulder, breathing measured, she seemed…content.

Sherlock's lips curved, "Are you hungry Molly?"

Molly lifted her head to look at him, radiating happiness, "Sherlock! I'm famished! My tummy rumbling?"

"No, but we did just do quite a work out,"he winked.

Molly laughed, the tinkling sound a thousand little bells, Sherlock suddenly felt like he was in a Disney movie, before the thought could turn sour and ruin the moment, Molly said to him, "Oh, I never did tell you about the autopsy I had on the day of the day of the broadcast, a few things happened and pushed it out of my head."

Sherlock gaped at her, Molly pulled a face and asked "Inappropriate?"

Sherlock laughed and shook his head, looking at her in adoration, "No, Molly, far from inappropriate, more like perfect."

They snuggled in together under the covers once they'd both ran off to the bathroom and freshened up a little. Molly pulled Sherlock's shirt on and buttoned it loosely, Sherlock thought she should dress that way permanently, it was sexy and had the added benefit of letting people know that she was taken.

Sherlock logged into an app on his phone for food delivery while Molly told him excitedly about the curious autopsy that she'd been so disappointed to miss out on when she'd been escorted from Bart's that day.

After they'd eaten they snuggled under the covers together curled into each other like ferns, Sherlock stroked Molly's skin, up over her hip and dipping into her waist, again and again, he couldn't get enough of her petite curves. Sherlock murmured into Molly's neck so softly he barely made a sound, just vibrations through her skin she somehow deciphered into words, "Molly? I don't want you to date other men anymore."

Molly stilled, "Sherlock?" Sherlock was subdued, "I don't want other men to touch you Molly, I want you to be mine, _only_ mine."

"Sherlock, I am yours, I've been yours for a long time," Molly stopped, understanding sinking in at last. "Sherlock when I was yours but you were not mine it was different, I was trying to move on, now we belong to each other, you don't have to check with me, as you'll have me."

"I don't know how these things works, I want to be clear. You are mine and I am yours?"

"Yes Sherlock," he didn't need to see her face to know she wore a smile, he was certain it was as wide as his own.

Sherlock pulled Molly tighter and kissed the top of her head, she could feel him relaxing and drifting away, in that moment everything else disappeared, the broadcaster, the engagement, the tranquilliser dart, the agents, it all floated away as they drifted into sleep together at last.


	10. A Thing of Wild Beauty

T **hank you to everyone who has favourited, followed or found me on Tumblr, you all keep me typing..**

 **Extra special thanks to DanannB for your absolutely lovely review.**

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Molly woke feeling deliciously dreamy, she became aware of Sherlock's arm draped across her first, thoughts were curling like smoke around her, each dissolving whenever she attempted to grasp one.

"Molly? Are you awake?" Sherlock's voice rumbled into her ear, each warm exhale tickling the hair at the nape of her neck.

Molly shivered, "Hmm, sleeping," when he began leisurely running his hand over her bare arm she hummed, "Hmm, I could get used to that Mr Holmes, don't tempt me."

Sherlock laughed, "Oh I hope you _do_ Miss Hooper, I hope you do." Molly squealed as he rolled her underneath him, he stopped when their faces were close enough to share breath, his voice came huskily, "Still mine?"

Molly smiled, adoration shining in her eyes, biting her lip coyly she looked at him, "You foolish man, I've never been anything but yours." Sherlock's eyes crinkled in the corners in an almost ludicrously sexy way at this declaration. Molly frowned, "You're too beautiful Sherlock, it's hardly fair, how will I ever say no to you?"

Sherlock stroked a hand across her cheek lovingly, scrunching his nose he asked, "Why would you _want_ to say no to me?"

Molly sighed, reaching up she brushed her fingers across the bridge of his nose, "How I adore that little wrinkle."

Sherlock chuckled, "You're not so innocent yourself Miss Hooper. You _know_ how sweet you look in your lab coat, and don't get me started on the way you nearly stopped both John and Lestrade's hearts at that ill-fated Christmas party.." His words trailed off, his gaze burning into her.

Molly allowed her hands to dance up and down over his biceps, "Oh yes, _that_ Christmas, the one where you punished me for taking everyone's attention off of you, or was it because you thought I had taken _my_ attention off of you?" Her eyebrows were raised in challenge even as her hands wandered over his back feeling the play of muscles under the skin.

Sherlock ducked his head against her neck, "Hmm, may have been a little of both," he ruefully admitted as he nuzzled his lips along her collarbone, moving up to her ear he whispered, "I could make it up to you."

Molly tilted her head away allowing him unfettered access, "Hmm, you were _very_ bad, you've got a lot to.. hmmm.. make up for, are you up to the task?"

Sherlock nipped at her pulse point, hands tangling up into her hair at the back of her neck. " _Oh yes,_ I think I could make up for all manner of things.."

Molly whimpered, she'd always found her hair being touched felt amazing, but the fact that it was Sherlock Holmes tugging her locks so lightly at the base of her skull increased the pleasure tenfold, "I'll hold you to that," she warned,

"Hold me to _you_ ," Sherlock growled against her neck.

Molly laughed at the corniness of the statement, Sherlock grinned basking in her happiness, leaning into her he covered her lips with his own, brushing against them ever so gently. Molly sighed, his lips were warm and smooth, each pass against her own causing the nerve endings to dance. "Sherlock," her voice a plea, though she knew not what she was pleading for.

Sherlock pulled back and looked into her eyes, his smile so sweet and full of love that it brought tears to Molly's eyes, her breath deepening, "I'll never leave you Molly, I'm not built for sometimes, I love you, therefore I will always love you."

Molly blinked, one perfectly formed teardrop on each lid being sluiced by her lashes and set adrift to roll down her cheeks, Sherlock's eyes remained fixed on hers as he reached with first one thumb and then the other to smudge the tears away.

Molly leaned into his touch, she gusted a breath out and started, "I waited for so long.."

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, guilt blooming in his chest heavily, "Molly, I.."

"No, _listen_ , I waited for so long because I had no choice, you're built into my hard drive or programmed into my DNA,' She paused smiling, "I don't know what it is, the point I'm trying to make is that I love you, whatever happens I will always love you and nothing could ever make me regret this." Molly took a breath to fortify herself for the statement she was about to make, throwing caution to the wind she dived in, "You're my heart's desire, Sherlock, you're the prince in the fairy tale, the happily ever after, the missing puzzle piece." Molly's eyes were closed, the vulnerability leaving her raw.

Sherlock's voice was low, "Molly? Do you think you're not those things to me? I've _never_ felt this way, I fought it for so long. You've been living in my mind since I fell, wandering my mind palace in little more than a negligee often times, taunting my decision to withdraw from my sexuality, I've been at your _mercy_." He stared at her, willing her to open her eyes.

Molly's eyes opened, shock widening them, "I didn't know, I.." confusion silenced her, the truth of his statement apparent in his bearing.

Sherlock allowed her to see him, "If it affords any consolation I had no idea that your feelings were unchanged, I've done so much - _wrong,"_ his eyes begged her forgiveness.

Molly stroked his face gently, gliding her thumbs along his cheekbones delicately, offering him absolution, "You love me now, I find myself wanting to only think about right here, right now."

Sherlock grinned, "Right now," raising an eyebrow suggestively at her.

"Hmm," Molly replied dragging the words out, "Right now." Sinking her hands into his hair she tugged him down to her willing lips to their mutual delight.

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Stevie yanked his cap down lower on his head, shoved his hands into his pockets and affected a slouch before crossing the carpark slowly keeping his eyes open for any sentries. He'd had to be extremely careful who he contacted, many of Moriarty's old contacts had been furious about his death; to their way of thinking business is business and a game with a ponce detective is an amusement, not worth throwing your life away over.

Stevie leaned against the wall of the garage and waited to see if the boss would come out or if he'd be forced to tangle with a slack-jawed minion or two before he got to the man he was here for.

A large man came loping out, around fifty, balding, rough stubble adorning his chin, though certainly not by design, clad in traditional mechanic's blue overalls. He looked Stevie up and down, his upper lip curling in disgust, "Ah, Stevie is it? These days anyway, still queer then?" He sneered.

Stevie's jaw tightened, nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, "Do you know who I am you filthy pig?"

The older man's answering grin conveyed that he knew alright, but was spectacularly unimpressed, "I know Moriarty ain't round to keep an eye out for you anymore, pretty boy."

"And you imagine what? That Moriarty kept me around as some sort of decorative trinket? He was straight you thick git, he kept me around because I'm a trained soldier." Reaching forward with a speed the other man would not have guessed he possessed, Stevie cupped the older man's balls in hands and squeezed, "You will treat me with the same respect that you would have shown me when Moriarty was alive, because I am the same man," squeezing tighter he went on, enjoying the bigger man's pleas and curses. "I am a sharp shooter, do you understand what that means? You uneducated earwig."

"I-I-I-It's a m-m-m-marksman, please, please, I was wrong, I'm sorry, I'll help you, I-I can help, please, I've got a little girl," he wheedled.

Stevie released him and stood back, his expression sour, "That's disgusting," he spat, "You have a little girl and yet you deal in _violence?_ What a kind of a world are you making for your own child to live in? Moriarty always said you were human excrement." He dusted his hands on his clothes as if to rid himself from the filth that had contaminated him.

Desperate now and still in very nearly overwhelming pain he offered in a low voice after hastily checking around them, "I still make the best bombs, that's why Moriarty came to me, mine are the best," he nodded along as he talked as if his own agreement was some sort of confirmation in itself. "I could make you a bomb, that's why you're here right?" He continued bobbing his head nervously.

Stevie tilted his head, "Do not presume to think for _me_ , do you understand?"

The mechanic threw up his hands, "N-no, I'm sorry, I would never, I-, Sir? What do you want?" His voice left him bereft of any dignity.

Stevie grinned, "Hmm, yes, this I can work with, I believe you can help me with a project I have."

The two men got down to talking, by the time Stevie left he had an admirer in Andrew the mechanic, he often found those men screaming the loudest with homophobic slurs when he first met them were the ones most likely to insinuate that they wouldn't be averse to his advances once they had spent time with him and discovered his darker side. Though rather well hidden behind his convivial, pleasing face his cruel streak was every bit a match for the much fabled Moriarty.

As he drove away he was smiling; just as the detective had found his happiness it was going to be taken from him, and in the most spectacular fashion imaginable. The wedding was going to be a thing of wild beauty, just as he'd promised Mycroft, although not quite in the way Mycroft had no doubt envisioned when he'd asked him to plan the event. Oh well, he wouldn't need to worry about getting a reference, his laughter fluttered out behind him like a ribbon as he drive away.

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"Sherlock?" Molly called from the kitchen, "Shall we have tea before we go?"

Sherlock seemed to appear behind her, slipping his arms around her he pulled her back against him snugly, enjoying the feel of her pressed against him, he'd always been such a tactile person so it felt nice to be able to _touch_ , "Do we have time?"

Molly swayed gently as she considered, the answer was probably no but she couldn't help but want to keep him all to herself for just a little longer, sighing she admitted, "No, they're waiting for us."

Sherlock grinned, "We can come back here as soon as Mary and John want to be alone with the little one, you won't have to share me for long."

Molly twisted around to face him, "Promise?" She looked up at him, eyes bright with trust and happiness at his close proximity.

Sherlock looked down at her, face tilted up towards his like a sunflower seeking the sun, she'd always sought him thusly, his most fervent hope was that she would always continue to do so. For the first time since Red beard's death he dared to hope that happiness was not out of his reach; beyond his scope. A little voice in his mind popped up to remind him that the broadcaster was out there somewhere, lurking in the shadows and if he did not find and stop him this connection with Molly would mean that she would be the first person the mad man would target.

As they made their way down the corridor to find Mary's room, Sherlock's hand threaded itself into hers, Molly glanced up at him, his gaze remained steadfastly on the horizon, she smiled and ducked her head, giving his hand a squeeze. He answered her in kind giving them both the courage they needed to face their friends as a unit.

Sherlock stopped at the door to Mary's room and glanced at Molly, she nodded and he pushed the doors open and they walked in, once again Molly was surprised, though happy to feel his hand seeking hers, allowing their hands to fit together again she smiled and looked up to see Mary and John looking at them with pure, undisguised joy.

"Hello Mum," Molly breathed, her smile wide and genuine, "How was it? Have they got you on the good pain pills?" Leaning in she kissed Mary's cheek, "Dad," she nodded, kissing John's cheek next. She stepped back to let Sherlock say his hello's and felt his hand reluctantly slip out of hers.

Mary sat grinning at them like an indulgent mother, eyes following approvingly when Sherlock automatically felt around for Molly's hand as they sat down again. "So, you two are… _together_?"

Molly blushed and looked down, Sherlock sighed, "I see bearing a child has not diminished your powers of observation Mary."

Mary grinned, "Oh shush, I won't let you see Clara if you can't be nice, wouldn't want your ill-mannered behaviour to be passed along now would we?"

John sat in the armchair next to Mary with the baby all wrapped up in his arms, he looked at Molly, "Would you like to…?" He nodded at the little bundle in his arms.

" _Oh yes_ ," Molly looked awe struck at such an offer, she stood next to John looking at him gratefully as he stood up carefully ready to do the hand-off.

"Clara, this is Aunt Molly," John beamed as Molly took Clara gingerly being sure to cradle her delicate little head.

"Oh John, she's _beautiful_ ," Molly looked at Clara as though she had discovered the meaning of life, Sherlock was watching her in turn, his face lit with joy.

Molly made her way over to him and sat with the baby, "Look at what Mary did, Uncle Sherlock, isn't she clever?"

Sherlock peered at the tiny face nestled in the blankets, his eyes lit up, "The cleverest," his eyes met Mary's and she nodded, tears in her eyes, acknowledging what he'd done for their little family.

John broke the mood calling out indignantly, "Hey! I was involved!" Mary shook her head and rolled her eyes, smiling.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "I hardly think your contribution would have posed much of a hard ship for you John."

Molly was mesmerised, transfixed by the little unfocused blue eyes squinting out from her sweet, red face.

John, looking on decided that a spot of revenge was in order, "Do _you_ want kids Sherlock? How about you Molly?" He asked smugly, he sat back in his chair with an air of a job well done, Mary frowned at him, worrying that he may inadvertently hurt Molly.

Sherlock surprised them all by saying firmly and without hesitation, "Yes, I do _now_."

Molly tore her gaze away from Clara to stare at Sherlock in disbelief, she blinked repeatedly before finally managing, "What?" Molly looked bewildered.

Sherlock repeated it softly, "I _do_ want children Molly," his eyes held her own unflinchingly, he was serious.

"W-well, I? I? I? Ah." Molly's confusion was palpable.

Mary laughed, "Sherlock, slow down, maybe take the poor girl on a date, there's a reason why people traditionally wait to have the big talks."

Sherlock nodded, "That is true, but that's time that is usually spent getting to know your partner, Molly and I have known each other for years, we don't need to wait for what we both want," he paused, turning back to Molly he asked, " _Do_ we both want that?"

Molly smiled, looking shell shocked she answered him, "I guess I do."

John snorted, "If you're about to propose allow me the chance to ruin it will you?"

All eyes turned to Sherlock, one thought humming in the air, Sherlock rolled his eyes, " _When_ I propose to Molly it will be perfect, you will not ruin it, you wouldn't do that to Molly. Not to mention there will be no proposals or pregnancies until I've identified and stopped the broadcaster."

John sat forward, "Any leads on that? Where are you at with it?" Mary and John wore his 'n' hers expressions of concern. Molly's attention was still squarely focused on Clara, wilfully so, worrying about the broadcaster every moment of every day had numbed her, she just wanted to revel in the perfection she held in her arms and block out the rest.

Sherlock blew out a breath, his face drained of colour, before he could get a word out there was a knock at the door of the room and in swept Anthea and Mycroft. Sherlock felt saved by the bell, in all the confusion the subject was simply dropped.

Anthea's, - _Amy's_ , though scarcely anyone in the room was thinking of her name - gaze found the little bundle in Molly's arms and made a bee line for her, "Oh Mary, she's lovely!" She eased her out of Molly's arms and held her carefully, Mycroft's smile was priceless, The Iceman had a heart after all.

John threw his hands up, "I helped too y'know!"

Mary shook her head, "I seem to recall it was me carrying that miniature human being around inside my body for the longest time I've ever done anything, your _contribution_ after a bottle of wine, just doesn't really add up." Expression softening, she went on, "They know you're her father love," she reached out a hand to hold his and pulled him over to sit on the edge of the bed for a cuddle.

Sherlock was watching Mycroft with ill-concealed amusement, "Ready to be a daddy?" He taunted.

Mycroft sighed at his little brother's attempts to needle, "You'll have to do better than that brother mine, I am in fact very much looking forward to being a father," raising his eyebrows at Sherlock his eyes darted toward Molly, "You're not getting any younger yourself, Hmm?"

Sherlock, ignoring Mycroft, smiled at Amy, "Suits you Amy, it's a new side to you."

Amy returned his smile though her eyes remained glued to Clara, "Not a new side Sherlock, I've always loved babies, I grew up looking after baby cousins, just not a side that has been particularly useful as an agent."

She crossed to Mary and the two began talking about the pros and cons of the C-section Mary had undergone. Mary had not had a choice due to the placenta praevia, but Amy would like to make an informed decision barring any medical issues that would take the decision from her.

Sherlock recognising that everyone was now caught up reached over to Molly and slipped his hand into hers, leaning over he caught her gaze and asked softly, "Fancy coming home with me love?" Leaning in a little further his lips connected with hers.

Molly's eyes shut immediately, softly he pulled her bottom lip into his mouth, grazing it ever so gently with his teeth, he slid one hand up around the base of her skull massaging his fingers into her sensitive flesh and letting her silken tresses flow over his fingers. The slightest sound came gusting out on her breath as he pulled away to check that his kiss had achieved the desired result.

Molly's chest was heaving, she looked dizzy, unable to focus, if she'd been standing she would have required help to stay on her feet, his proud grin was spotted only by John who for the first time ever when seeing Sherlock in an intimate situation did not look shocked or amused or surprised, he simply looked happy for his friend. Alright maybe he was a teensy bit shocked; the man could kiss! He'd thought him unable after witnessing the odd little closed mouth pecks he and Janine had shared that day.

John watched with an indulgent smile as the two got up and snuck out hand in hand, Sherlock whispered something in Molly's ear that made her swallow hard and blush, then she grinned and positively dragged Sherlock along in her wake, whatever he'd told her obviously met with approval and then some.

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	11. Alibis and Games

_Sorry for the delay with this chapter, we're getting to the end now though so I hope the excitement will make up for my rubbish timeline.._

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 _Just want to say an extra thank you to my reviewers, I have responded to your reviews but I'd like to say thanks again! You all give me the courage to continue and for that you have my endless gratitude.._

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Stevie turned the radio up as he drove, the day was going swimmingly and he was in the mood for some music from the master. Jamie had always laughed at him for his love of Elton John, he hadn't truly minded though, he would have said if he did, if anything, his darling friend found it endearing.

Even the weather was on his side on this glorious day, the sun had been playing peek-a-boo all morning and there was a pleasant warmth in the air. Joy coursed through him, and if it held a manic sort of edge, what of it? He need only keep himself reigned in for a few more weeks before he could let it all fly.

The last few weeks had passed in an unbroken haze of boredom; Sherlock didn't seem to have found much - if anything - at Andover. Too busy shacking up to be bothered with a great deal beyond shagging; the great detective had discovered his dick and was every bit enamoured with it as your average thirteen year old boy.

Stevie grinned, This really was working out splendidly, the harder the consulting wanker fell in love, the more he'd suffer. A perfect paradox indeed.

By now he was gliding on gold tipped wings toward the coup dê grace and he was determined to wring every drop of enjoyment out of it before he finally joined Jamie in the obscurity of forever and pitched Sherlock into a hell on earth, unlike anything he'd so far experienced.

He was going to kill them all. Every. Single. One.

Except for him.

The great detective was going to take up residence in Dante's fifth circle of hell. He'd spend the rest of his life flagellating himself for letting all of the wonderful people that he loved die, and living with the certain knowledge that it was all because of him, his need to show off, to be the cleverest, to win.

He was going to put on one final spectacular performance for him. He would be the guest of honour at an explosive, once-in-a-lifetime showcase extravaganza. When the curtain fell, the images would adorn the walls of his mind palace, a constant reminder of his failings as he endlessly wandered its corridors, trapped there forever, alone. No one left to comfort him, to tell him he was a good man. There would be no more Sherlock Holmes, he'd devolve right back to the junkie piece of shit he always had been, deep down.

Humming contentedly, he cast his mind back over his productive morning. It had all gone off without a hitch, just as everything had so far. He didn't believe in angels or an afterlife but if anyone could manage to stick around after death in order to help exact revenge on the man responsible for his untimely demise, it would be Jamie.

His face creased into a smile at the thought. Dear Jamie watching all the fun and smoothing the way for him, knowing he would be seeing him soon - or, and far more likely - ceasing to exist. Whatever happened, they would be together.

Right from the first, it had flowed; the mechanic had been a grubby little toad, but he was a master of his craft. Jamie had only ever worked with the best and dealing with him had been well worth getting his hands dirty; a first class bomb was being made to his exact specifications, with an absolute guarantee of being ready in time to be smuggled into the main kitchen at Great Fosters by his newly recruited mule, a full week in advance of the wedding.

He supposed he could have brought it in himself on the day of the wedding, getting around the detail that he himself was in charge of would hardly pose much of a challenge, but the more variables he must account for on the actual day, the greater likelihood of failure.

Who knows what sort of idiotic dramas the bride and groom might manage on the day, leaving him with fires to put out before he could make his grand entrance.

No, he had made the right decision, the head chef had been easy enough to convince, if a little thick - most of his stupidity could probably be put down to nerves.

Allowing himself to relax, he relived his morning's fun; rolling it around like a smooth pebble a child might pick up at the seaside to dance across his fingers, enjoying the smooth surface under his fingertips.

He'd spent quite some time preparing for the task, watching the key staff members at Great Fosters. Figuring out the weakest link had been easy.

The head chef had two strikes against him; his children, easily used as bargaining chips and a gambling addiction that put him in a prime position to be bought.

It had been a snap to worm his way into his regular game, the name Moriarty still opened doors, even now.

Starting off the night as a guileless, pretty, little daddy's boy, playing with papa's bank roll, had been fun and had made it easy to get a seat at the same table as Chef Luke.

Luke must've thought he'd won the lottery, Stevie let him win, egging him on until he got comfortable and his bets got bigger, when Whisky had further loosened his inhibitions, Stevie had simply cheated.

By the end of the night, he had a chit to collect on a hundred thousand pounds; he was a bigger fool than even Stevie had given him credit for.

So, come the morning, bright and early, he'd gone to collect. Though he had no need for the money - which worked well for both - Luke had dug himself into a gambling hole that Stevie could use as a bargaining chip. The chef couldn't come up with the readies anytime soon, and all Stevie wanted was a favour, just a simple favour.

Luke had been spectacularly stupid, seeming to wilfully misunderstand. He was a mess, sweating and crying and begging, "Please, not my children, just me." Desperate now, "Or I could get you the money?"

Sighing and clicking his tongue, Stevie had shaken his head, "Afraid not, unless you have it on you right now, I'm going to need the favour. Besides, it's a good deal! You just bring in the bomb a week before the wedding and you take the day of the wedding off."

"But- but, laxatives? That's not necessary," looking as though inspiration had hit, he blurted, "I could take the laxatives!"

Rolling his eyes, he explained again, "Listen to me, I need to be assured of your absolute discretion-"

Sucking in a breath, Luke clearly planned on arguing that point again.

Stopping him with a hand held up, he reached into his pocket with the other and drew out a switch blade.

Swallowing hard, Luke's mouth snapped shut, his eyes wide as they followed the knife. Every trace of his former bluster, his cocky, chef-in-charge personality had sloughed right off like a lizard discarding its skin.

With the air of one who had practised this manoeuvre ad infinitum, he switched the blade open with one hand and spun it into position, darting his hand out toward Luke, he narrowly missed him, before withdrawing it again just as suddenly, then twirling it back into position, he flicked it shut.

Holding Luke's eyes, he opened the blade again, spinning and twirling it theatrically, the sun peeking out especially, just to glint menacingly off the blade.

In a light, conversational tone, he started, "Now, don't get me wrong, I don't like to hurt kids," his easy smile belying the words. Hardening his voice he added, "But, make no mistake, I will."

"Please, no- " Misery and despair had him clawing for air.

"I can't have you getting cold feet, if you get it into your thick little head that the police are going to be suspicious of you, you'll squeal like a stuck," here he plunged his knife into the tree next to him for emphasis, grinning when the chef gasped, "Pig."

"All you have to do is dose your little darling with laxatives the morning of the wedding, before sending her off to school. Chocolate flavoured, just put it right in her cereal," Stevie had assured him with a shrug.

"She-she doesn't eat cereal, they- it's not good f-for learning," he stammered out, gulping in air between words, looking queasy, he'd continued, "Concentration, you know? It's not like it was when we were kids, th-they have protein and low sugar," babbling now, sounding strangled, "Yoghurt smoothies and e-e-eggy toast."

Stevie had tilted his head, lips pressed into a thin line, his voice diamond hard, "So put it in the smoothie with banana and tell her it's a treat."

At this Luke had opened his mouth again, his eyes wild with terror and confusion.

His face had dissolved into ugly tears at this, looking no better than a snivelling school child, he'd begged, cajoled and pleaded, even offering to take the laxatives himself. Snot ran freely as he'd tried to come up with an idea that Stevie would capitulate to.

Adamant, Stevie had knocked back every idiotic suggestion he'd put forth, the police would question him intensely given any of these scenarios and under suspicion he'd crack like a soft boiled egg. If this idiot thought there was even a small chance that he would look guilty, he'd run straight to the police or even to the dear detective himself.

"This is the only scenario that puts you above suspicion, no one will expect a child to have diarrhoea for any reason other than a genuine sickness. You need to be above suspicion, they start looking into your gambling debts and you're suspect number one, you know that too, don't you? So I can't risk you making a deal for witness protection."

Slamming the blade into the tree with astonishing force for someone with such a small frame, he caught his eye and warned, "You don't want to do that, I have connections everywhere. You've heard of James Moriarty?"

Right now Luke Williams would have been hard pressed to recall his own father, his hollow eyed, terror filled stare remained blank, devoid of recognition.

Waving away his own question, he went on, "Of course you have, the whole world heard about him during the trial and the Richard Brook fun. I am avenging his death, if I am frustrated, no one will be able to keep you or your family safe, I will find your children and I'll indulge in one of Moriarty's favourite pleasures."

A slow smile spread across his face as he inhaled through his nose and closed his eyes. Sighing appreciatively, a memory of his darling in full technicolour, played out on the inside of his eyelids, in perfect harmony with the image in his head he sang, "I will skin them."

His eyes snapped open and he pinned the other man with his gaze.

After that it had been a relatively simple task to convince him that laxatives in a smoothie would create the perfect bullet proof alibi and hence, Luke need not fret that he would be caught. Just to sweeten the deal a little more, he told him his debts would be wiped with his bookie as long as he was never seen there again.

By now he had dissolved into a snivelling mess again and had wanted to cry over his wife's death and explain how he wasn't like this, he was a good father, he was just having a bad run and other boring inanities.

Stevie had been feeling generous enough to simply step over him on his way back to his car, not even bothering to kick the fool while he was down.

~o0oo0oo0o~

The bridal consultant came out with the dress draped carefully over her arms, Molly and Stevie cooed appreciatively, while Anthea looked the gown over with a critical eye.

Smoothing a palm over the silky finish, she raised her brows slightly at the older woman, "Are the maternity panels ready?"

"Of course dear, wouldn't want you feeling as though you need to cut down to fit into your dress," she smiled and patted Anthea's tummy, "Not in your condition darling."

Directing a look of pure disgust at the hand so casually placed on her stomach, she responded with ire, "I do not need to fit myself into a certain sized dress to know my worth, nor does my betrothed require it."

Pulling her hand away sharply, looking as though she'd been bitten, she hastened to say, meekly, "Oh, of course, I - I didn't mean any harm, just that some girls get a little too caught up and- " she trailed off helplessly, paralysed by the murderous gleam in Anthea's eyes.

With a smile that could out dazzle the sun, Stevie glided over smoothly, assuring her in a confidential tone, "It's fine, wedding jitters," chuckling, he leaned in to her and added, "She's not really a bridezilla."

Anthea cocked her head and narrowed her eyes at Stevie thoughtfully, "So, just to be clear, is this behaviour - where you talk about me as though I'm not present - is that due to the fact that I'm a bride to be wearing a tiara or because I'm a mum to be?"

A dark, slippery shadow passed over Stevie's face, causing Molly to recoil in shock and confusion. However the expression was smoothed away so quickly that she dismissed the thought outright; he'd been hurt by Anthea's comment, that's all.

Immediately realising how rude and uncalled for, her behaviour had been, Anthea held her hands out to Stevie, eyes widening in worry. "Forgive a cranky pregnant woman?"

His answering smile was instant and angelic; moving forward, he took her hands in his own and raising them to his mouth, feathered his lips across the knuckles of each, he smiled softly, "Of course my darling, I had already done as much."

Relief brightened her smile, squeezing his hands, she gusted out a breath, before offering, "Will you let me make it up to you? We'll have lunch, my treat, at The Fat Duck."

Molly clapped, "Ooh, Heston Blumenthal? Yum. Well, you can't possibly hold a grudge now Stevie?"

Releasing Anthea's hands he nodded and grinned, "I'd be honoured to break bread with my two best girls."

This time the smile was genuine as he remembered the extra bottle of liquid laxative he had left from this morning's errand. Someone needed to teach Miss Thing some manners and he had just the self-appointed man for the task.

Yes, lunch at The Fat Duck would be perfection. Anthea would blame any peculiar tastes on her hormones and the effect of pregnancy on her taste buds, Molly would nod and agree and he would be 'charmed.'

Of course, it would be all worth it, if it went well, if he played it right the bitch would spend the night in hospital, Mycroft would no doubt close the restaurant. Ah, what a spot of fun!

He had no grudge with Heston Blumenthal, other than his general air of pretentiousness but oh, how he missed trouble simply for its own sake. He and Jamie used to have such fun! It would be lovely to relive just a little of the magic again before he joined him.

Looking every bit as pleased as he felt, he flounced over and flopped down gracefully next to Molly. Tugging her hand, he used it as a lever to pull her close to him, tucking her under his arm. Running his fingers through her silky hair helping Molly forget his earlier slip, whilst reminding them of just how non-threatening he was, their super-gay, super-fun friend, a sweetheart; it was no hardship, she truly did have gorgeous hair, a flowing, satin mane.

~o0oo0oo0o~

Sherlock stood by the window, violin tucked under his chin; the traffic below rushing past unnoticed, while he allowed himself to be swept along in the pull of the notes he was playing.

It took three separate calls for him to distinguish the sound of his ringtone from the music he himself was creating.

Dropping his arms, he sighed, The Flight of the Bumblebee, Mycroft's personal ring-tone. Settling his Strad carefully in its case, he let it ring out just one more time.

"Busy, Mycroft."

A series of harsh panting breaths were his only answer, frowning, he warned, "This had better be on behalf of Mycroft Holmes, if this is some sort of a game, let me tell you, you have picked the wrong family."

"Sherlock?" Barely concealed terror marred Mycroft's speech and though he'd deny it, Sherlock's heart squeezed in horrified anticipation.

A rattle, a thunk, and a burst of static, preceded Molly's frightened voice, "Sherlock?"

Fear bursting like ripe fruit in his stomach, left him nauseated, adrenalin pumped through his veins, making him sweat and tremble and his heart boomed in his chest before simply stopping.

"Molly?" His voice was that of a frightened child, weak, thin, barely recognisable, even to himself. To his dismay, the phone was sliding out of his grasp, his fingers slippery with sweat.

As he cleared his throat, Molly spoke again.

"I'm okay, Mycroft is okay, Anthea-"

Heart beating again, in bursts of hard painful thuds, crashing against his ribs again and again, ignoring it, he asked, "Anthea? The baby?"

"Stomach flu or food poisoning," Molly reassured, his panic clear.

"Food- are you well?" Scarcely able to draw breath while he waited for her answer.

"Yes, I'm fine, it's Anthea she- "

"Symptoms?" Sherlock barked, striding toward his bedroom.

"Nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea, cramps, dehydration-"

"Where did you eat?" His tone reptilian in its coldness, its efficiency, emotion discarded in favour of action.

'Sherlock, no- " Molly protested.

Gritting his teeth, he demanded, "Where did you eat, Molly?"

"Sherlock! Will you listen to me? MI6 are looking into the restaurant, it's far more likely to be a bug than food poisoning and Mycroft needs you."

"Molly, I am the best, this must be investigated thoroughly and I am the only one who is capable of ensuring that it is done properly."

"Sherlock Holmes, you listen to me, your brother needs you. None of the employees are going anywhere. MI6 has agents down there and if they are unable to draw a conclusion, or they don't give an answer that makes sense to you, then you can feel free to head down to investigate. But first, you will come to the hospital and comfort your brother." Molly sucked in a deep breath, cracked her neck and waited for the excuses to start.

"Okay, I'll see you soon."

Molly felt the stress leave her body, she smiled, her voice sweet, "I love you Sherlock Holmes."

~o0oo0oo0o~

"I'm going to get you a tea from the caf', Mycroft, it'll be character building." She teased him.

"Molly, I fail to see how cheap, awful tea could possibly- " he broke off abruptly as he glimpsed the younger Hurricane Holmes heading towards them.

Frowning, he asked Molly, "You asked him not to go to the restaurant?"

Molly smiled gently and squeezed his forearm briefly, "He's needed here."

Unable to hide his complete and utter bafflement, he pulled back, his head withdrawing into his neck; aware that he was affecting what Anthea had christened The Pompous Politician Face, but unable to stop.

"Quite so," he nodded awkwardly, possibly unable and definitely unwilling, to be impolite. He patted Molly's hand, three short little taps, attempting to convey to her that her efforts were appreciated.

Molly laughed, "You'll see."

Running to Sherlock, tackling him, her arms snaking around his neck as he caught her about her waist; she laughed and his gaze roamed her face lovingly, his own lit up with that special smile, the one he reserved only for her.

"Thank you for coming," grinning as her feet finally hit the floor, her hands slid down over his neck, easing them instead around his waist, over his shirt - As if she could fit a hand under - inside the Belstaff. She hummed softly, a satisfied little sound of approval for the way his body felt curving around and over her own, and the comfort of his measured heartbeat, so precise in her ear.

"Anthea is asleep," his voice was gentle and low, "Why am I here Molly?" He asked, winding his own arms around her.

"Anthea is asleep," she agreed, "They've got her on a saline drip for dehydration, they gave her an anti-emetic and an anti-diarrhoeal; between the medication and the stress she was out cold within twenty minutes."

Closing her eyes for a moment, overcome with the memory, Anthea, writhing on the restaurant bathroom floor. To bear witness to such a woman undone in such a way, it was heart breaking.

With a shaking voice she recounted the rest of the relevant details, "They've got her hooked up to a foetal heart monitor, the baby is not showing any signs of distress; vomiting, nausea and diarrhoea are common in pregnancy anyway and whatever Anthea is reacting to mustn't have crossed the blood barrier. She just needs to rest, she and the baby are both going to be fine."

Nodding in agreement, "I'll go to The Fat Duck, MI6 are not me, I presume they've locked it down? No one in or out?" Kissing the top of her head to signify that the discussion was closed, he was surprised to feel Molly's arms tightening around his waist.

"Molly? I- " His hands wrapped around her arms, gently, but with obvious intent to disengage her hold on him.

"Stevie is at the restaurant- " She murmured, burrowing into his chest, making it clear that she wished him to stay.

"Stevie is not me, Molly," he admonished.

Eyes shining, Molly tilted her head as she agreed wholeheartedly, "No one is you Sherlock."

Raising his eyebrows in agreement, feeling rather proud of managing not to say, Nice deduction, Molly; he waited to hear her out, emotionally her I.Q. was at least triple his own and he finally had the grace and courage to admit it.

Molly was sombre as she explained, "Your parents won't be here for several hours yet and even when they are they'll be exhausted from the drive, not to mention Mycroft won't confide his fears in them; as much as you two try to hide it, you're actually close, he adores you and he's afraid."

Sceptical, he warned, "I will stay, but only because you're the wise one - " When Molly's face lit up with a combination of shock, awe and wonder, he broke off, frowning slightly in confusion.

Feeling as though she'd just been given an unexpected and priceless gift, she smiled up at him, joy suffusing her entire being.

"Molly?" He didn't need to elaborate, she understood.

Tears shimmered along her lash lines, "You think I'm wise?" Her voice quiet with awe and disbelief.

Sherlock frowned and shook his head slightly, the mesmerising sway and flow of his shock of hair capturing Molly's attention.

The light shone on hidden depths of colour, auburn threads corkscrewing their way through his curls as they bloomed and telescoped with the motion of his head.

Sherlock chuckled, "Oh Molly, I wonder if you'd love me quite so much without my hair."

Blushing, Molly laughed as she realised she'd been biting her lip and unabashedly staring at him.

"Hmm, maybe now is not the best time to tell you that I must go undercover in a theatre group and I will be cutting my hair, very short," he dead panned.

A look of horror passed over Molly's face, "Very short?" She whispered.

Unable to resist, he added, "Slicked back too."

Nodding solemnly, she tried her best to be brave.

Sherlock laughed and squeezed her tightly to him, "I love you Molly Hooper."

Relaxing against him, she begged, "Don't tease me, it's a serious day."

Stroking his hand over her silken pony tail and pulling the elastic lower and further out with each pass, he murmured, "What do they know so far?"

Leaning into his touch, enjoying his worship, she thought for a moment, "Well when I spoke to Stevie, he said they'd called or found everyone who ate there today and nothing, no one else has had any symptoms. And while it's possible to develop a reaction during pregnancy it's unlikely for such a reaction to come on so suddenly with so many symptoms and no accompanying rash."

"Hmm, so food poisoning is out, but no one has ruled out sabotage." A coldness settled over his features even as his hand skated down and rubbed circles on Molly's back soothingly. "All of the employees have been detained? No one finished shift early and clocked off?"

"No, Stevie is questioning everyone with the help of the MI6 agents, they're not going to let anyone go until Mycroft gives the official green light."

Pulling away a little, Molly looked up into his face, her eyes wide and glassy, "But all that can wait Sherlock, Mycroft needs you, he's a mess and he's questioning his decision to marry and have a child." Sadness and worry for her friends casting shadows under her eyes.

Heaving a great sigh of defeat, he peered over her head at Mycroft and tried, "He seems fine now, obviously your bedside manner is wasted on the dead." Wheedling, he added, "How about I go finish up at the restaurant and then we go home and you show me some of your bedtime manner?"

Sliding his hands under her blouse, he let his fingertips skate over her skin hoping to entice her to come back to Baker St, or home as he hoped she would agree to call it once this whole Moriarty thing was over.

Ruefully, Molly smiled, "You make a great case Sherlock, you really do, but that man is over there second guessing himself and preparing to send the love of his life to some forbidden, far away island for her own protection. I don't need to tell you that not only will Anthea not go, but she'll feel betrayed by him and their relationship will take a major hit."

Rolling his eyes, he pressed his lips together and huffed a breath through his nose. Cocking his head, he took her in, "You could manage wars and no one would even notice that you were the one in control."

Grinning at him, "Thank you. I'm going to the café, I'll be a while, in fact, why don't you find me when you're done." Leaning up on her tip toes she pressed a kiss onto his smooth lips, "You're a good man Sherlock Holmes, however much you wish to deny it."

Caressing her retreating figure with his eyes until she turned a corner and was gone, he finally, switched his focus to Mycroft and his feelings.

Shuddering, his belly full of dread at the thought of such a discussion with the Ice Man, brother or not. Straightening up, he rifled his fingers through his hair, sparing a thought for Molly, aware that she would have been riveted to the sight.

Reluctantly he made his way towards Mycroft.

~o0oo0oo0o~

Looking up as a flash of movement caught his attention he saw Sherlock on his own and heading in his direction, Oh God, the horror.

Mycroft's face scrunched in pure revulsion as he realised just what Molly had meant when she had suggested that he was needed here.

He plastered a smirk on his face as he greeted the younger Holmes, "Well, brother mine, come to offer me succour at the behest of yon fair maiden?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Don't make jokes Mycroft, it makes you look weak."

And just like that, the air seemed to go out of Mycroft all at once, "Maybe I am, little brother, maybe I am."

"It's too late for that Mycroft." Sherlock's eyes burned into him.

In a low, broken voice, Mycroft admitted, "I've made a mistake, I took something I shouldn't have. I wasn't meant to have this kind of happiness." He kept his eyes fixed on his umbrella, so he wouldn't meet his brother's eyes again.

Sherlock was uncharacteristically kind and patient, he understood now what Molly had left him there to do, "There is danger in life Mycroft, for everyone, not just for you and I. Anthea is not ignorant of this, she chose life, and you should too, or you'll lose her and your child."

In a voice reminiscent of ground glass, Mycroft admitted his shameful weakness, the fact of his heart not only beating, but that it did so for another, "I don't want her to get hurt, I can't, I- "

Pain had knocked his brother off kilter, he was very nearly babbling, a verbal slap was needed, "Mycroft."

Looking up, Mycroft's eyes collided with Sherlock's, rather than the expected judgement, he saw love, understanding.

"What do I do?" The raw vulnerability of this plea, terrified him.

"If you ask her to leave, she won't come back and she'll never forgive you." His tone was final, this was not a discussion, simply a bare fact.

He stumbled backwards and when his knees hit the bench he sat gracelessly. There was no comfort in this zero sum game, this catch-22. Ask her to leave and he would hurt her, but if she stayed, anyone may hurt her.

Standing with his hands clasped behind his back, looking down on Mycroft, Sherlock showed no mercy, "It's too late brother, you already chose. She needs you now, no room for cowardice. You have to see her hurting."

Burying his face in hands, "I love her so much."

Sherlock's phone buzzed steadily in his pocket, he ignored it, "I learnt about love from a master," smiling, he went on, "When you love someone, you always love them, even when it hurts you, especially when it hurts you, that's when they need it the most."

Nodding now, understanding sinking in. He had been forced to love his brother like this, though he'd desperately wished to pack him off to a safe place, Sherlock had been too stubborn to go anywhere, he sought out danger, thrived on it.

His thoughts drifted to his special agent fiancée and the penny dropped completely, "Ah."

Grinning, Sherlock agreed, "Yes, ah. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to take a call," waving his phone, he added cheerfully before walking away, "Homeless network."

Swiping the angry, buzzing little screen, "Yes? What is it? This had better be important."

"Boss? That bomb maker, the one, what's a mechanic?" Wiggins' voice was nasal and tinny.

Lips pressed together in annoyance, sighing in frustration, "Who." His voice crisp.

"The mechanic, Moriarty's man, innit?" he answered cheerfully.

"Who is a mechanic, isn't he?" His words stiff.

"Yes Boss, he's the mechanic, what makes bombs, Moriarty's man." His encouraging nods of confirmation clear, even through the phone.

Biting his tongue, his eyes rolled back in his head in frustration but ultimately he decided on letting the grammar errors go in favour of obtaining the information expediently."

He ordered some things, stuff he wouldn't be needing, not for fixing cars he wouldn't, he'd need them for a bomb though, a big one."

"Watch him, I'm on my way," he ended the call and striding toward the exit, fired off messages to Molly and Mycroft, advising that he had a hot lead in a case - carefully omitting which case - and informing them that he would go to the restaurant at his earliest convenience.

His smile was wide as he pushed the doors open and swept out through the waiting area, finally, some excitement.

* * *

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